'S 2999 
T55 P9 
!opy 1 



PRICE, 25 .CENTS. 
AMES' SERIES OF 

.ANDARD AND MINOR DRAMA. 1 

NO. 123. m 



at: 

m 

St. 



AULD ROBIN GRAY 



^>. 



WITH CAST OK CHARACTERS, KNTRANCES, AND EXITS, RELATIVE POSITIONS 

OF THE PERKOKMRRS ON THE STAGE, DESCRIPTION OF COS- 

' TUMES, AND THE WHOLE OK THE STAGE BUSINESS, 

AS PERFORMEI> AT THE PRINCIPAL 

AMKKICAN AND KNGLISH 

THEATRES. 



i 



CLYDE OHIO; 
A. D. AMES, PUBLISHER. 



AMES' SERIES OF ACTING PLAYS. 



PRICE FIFTEEN CENTS EACH-C \TALOGUES FREE. 



i|i 




11; 




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1 


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! 


S 




'.(S 


1 


iia 


1 


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14 


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22 


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17 


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47 



M, r. 

A C'itpital Match, farce,! act. by J. M. Morton 3 2 

A Day Well Spent, farce. 1 ac , by John Oxenford 7 5 

A iJe^perate Game, comic drama, 1 act, by Morton 3 2 

Adrift, temperance ibama, ti acts, by C \V. Babcock, M. D 6 4 

Alarmingly Snspicious. comedie ta, 1 act, J. P. Simpson 4 3 

A Life".- Keven,ua\ drama, 8 acts, by W. E. Suter 7 ."> 

.All Aw. Ill Criuiinai, larce, 1 act, by J. I 'aigravc Simpson 3 3 

An L'nliappy Pair, ethiopian farce. 1 act. by G. VV. H. Griffin 1 1 

An Unwelc .me Keturn, com. inLi'd, 1 act, by George A Munson 3 1 

A Pet of the Public, farce, 1 act, by Edward Sterlinji; 4 2 

A Romantic Attachment, comedietta, 1 act, tiy Arthur Wood 3 3 

Arr.ili DiBaiii^ti. drama, .5 acts, by F. C. Kinnamaii 7 5 

A Thrilling Item, f;.rce. 1 act, by Newton Ciiisnel 3 1 

At Last. telni)eranco drama. 3 acts, by G. C. Vantrot 7 1 

A Ticket of Leave, farce, 1 act. by Watts Phillips 3 2 

Auld Itob'.n Gray, emo. drama, 5 acts, Malcolm Smart Taylor, 25 cents 13 3 

Aurora Floyd, drama. 2 act-, by W. E. Snter 7 3 

Beaut V of Lyons, dom. fuama, "."J acts, by W T. Moncrieff 11 2 

Bett r Half, comedietta. l act, by T. J. Williams 5 2 

Black Siatne, ethiop an farce, 1 act, by • . 'mliite 3 2 

Bill Detrick, melodrama, 3 acts, by A. Newtomficld 6 4 

Black vs. White, farce, 1 act, l)y George S. VaArot 4 2 

Brigands of Caialnia. rem drama, 1 act, W. E.NStiter 6 1 

Captain Smitii, farce, 1 act, by E. Berrie 3 3 

(Jheek will Win, farce, 1 uct, by VV. E. Sntcr 3 

Der two Stirprises, Dutch farce, 1 act, by M. A. D. Clifton 1 1 

Deuce is n Him, farce. 1 act, by R J. Raymond 5 1 

Did I Dream it? farce, 1 act, by J. P. Wooler 4 ;> 

JJoinesiic Felicity, farce, 1 act, by Huttie L. Larabla 1 1 

Driven to the W all, play, 4 acts, by A. D. Ames 13 3 

Fetter Lane to Gravesend, ethiopean farce 2 

Give m-i my Wife, farce, 1 act, by W. E. Suter 3 3 

Hal Hazard, military drama, 4 acts, by Fred. G. Andrews 8 3 

How She Has Her Own W^ay, sketch in 1 act, by Ida M. Bnxion 1 3 

Handy And v, ethiopean farce, 1 act.. 2 

Hans, the Dutch J. P., Dutch farce, 1 act, by F. L. Cutler. 3 1 

Hash, faic", 1 act. by W Henri Wilkins 4 2 

llei.ry (ijandeii. drama, •^. acts, by Frank L. Bingham 11 8 

Hints on Elocution and how lo i ecome an Actor 

Ho.v Sister P. got Child Baptized, ethiojjean farce, 1 act 2 1 

How He Did If. comic drama, 1 act by John Parry 3 2 

How to Tame Your Mother-in-law, farce. 1 act. by H. J. Byron 4 2 

How Stout You're G.; ting, farce, 1 act, by J. M. Morton 5 2 

Hunter of the Alps, drama, 1 act, by Win. Dimond 9 4 

In tlic \S'!ong Bo.v, ethiopian farce, 1 act, by M A. D. Clifton 3 

'.f.'i In lilt! W'r n-i Clothes, farce, 1 act 5 3 

77 .lo.j's Visit. Ethiopian farce, 1 act. by A. Leavitt and H. Eagan 2 1 

II .John Smith, 1.nc(!, 1 act, by W. Hancock 5 3 

'.!;) -) limbo Jnm. f;iree, 1 act 4 3 

.^.' Killing Time, f,.rce, 1 act - 1 1 

'.I Lady Aiullfys Secret, drama, 2 acts, by W. E. Suter « 4 

:] Ladv of 1-yons, drama, 5acts, by Bulwer IJ 5 

lOi Lost, temf.eiance dr.ima, 3 acts, by F. L. Cutler 2 

liUi LodiriM^s for Two, comic sketch, 1 act, by F L. Cutler 3 

4ii .Man and Wife, drama, 5 acts, bv H. A. Webber 11 7 

III Michael l':rle, dram ', 2 acts, by Egerlou Wilks 8 3 

.;(; Miller of Derwent Water, drama. 3 acts, by E. Filzball 5 2 

ss Mischievous .Nigger, Ethiopian farce. 1 act, by C. Whiie 4 2 

ol Mistletoe Bough," melodrama, 2 acts, by C. Somerset 7 3 

fW° Catalogue continued on next page of cover. ..^^ 



AuLD. Robin Gray, 

AN EMOTIONAL DRAMA, 



IN FIVE ACTS, 



STALCOLM STUAHT TAYLOU,' 

AUTHOR OP 
An AJiided FumiJt/, **Aar-u-ag-oos,''^ A Fool's Errand, Etc 



From the famous Scotch Ballad of the same name by Lady Aiuk 

Barnard. 



f'r!]ited from the original manuscript, with the stage business care- 
fully marked, relative positions, Etc. 



£!vtered according to act of Congress, in iht year 18S1, hy 

A. D. AMES, 
in ike ojffke of the Librarian of Conaress, at W-Jtshington, 




^^CO^-^^<-^iii.-c-^^^ 






CLYDE, onto: — 

A. D. AMES,'PUBT.!SHKR. 



AULD RGBir^ GRAY« 



CIIAKACTEES REPRESENTED. 

',l(A)\n Gny _ - - - - 0/ Cairnieford 

'eaniie FjiJcon ... - a young Farnhv 

Vieol MeWhapi.b - - 7 ' ' of Clashgirn 

Vdam Lindsay ' — - - -■ - « ' ~ a Fhlierman 

Mathcvv' Smart . - - - - ths Fiscal 

Andrew Monduif . - - - . f/i« Ministef 

I.nke Cariieo-if. ...---« La?/;^er 

Vv'attie Todd -..-;- :- - a Simpleton 

Ivan Carracli - - - - Skipper of the Colin 

llutoliesou „ - - - - his First Mate 

Donald • - - » - a Sailor 

f^^^']yl . - s- i- - - Fishermen 
Davit.) 

Jcannio Lulls ly . - - - Jeamis-s Lnas 

^Laro-arofc Lindsay - - - - hsr invalid Jl'dhsr 

GirzTe Todi - - - - - , a Fi^hwi/s 

S.iuor.^, Pccfi^-n^.-i a^'l Fi'ihcnnzn, 



ROBIN'.— First and so3on \ a:cfc,far:Ti7i-'s suit of corduroy— cutaway 
coat — low wai.^teoat — knc3 brnojln^— Scotch boanet — ribbed wooleu 
stockln'>'d — buckled Bho^s— plain shirt and kofchief. Thiill and fol- 
io win, l>- acts. Black frock coat — re 1 vest — black breeches— white 
rulildd bo30iii ihiv't — bl.ick nsck.-loth an I a sttuT — looks disordered in 
la^t act. 

i^AMrr:.— FIr?t Act. Plowboy's suit like Robin's tirst, but of 
orjrer quality. Tliird f?nd last Act. bailor's suit-r-wlilie jackvti- 
!duc shirt witli broad collar and cull'o— blue ncck-kerchief— v/nit« 
trousers and broad brimmt-d straw hat. 

NICOL. — Fall suit of black, liky Itobin's — white stoekin^s and 
neclvcloth — blick th.ree-cornercd hat — snuffbox and stalf. 
. ADAM. — Fishjr.nm'o suit— .'j 1 Uinnjl shirt — blue llmnel short 
loose trousers — t:irpaulin hat — blue neek-cloth and a tisliing net. 

A XDRE'tV [- Something liko Nicol's, but not so sombre looking. 

LUKE ) 

WAT TIE. — A Highlander's suit— jacket and kilt, pretty well vroru 
our. . - 

IS^AIST. — Sailor's suit — ;jacket and trousers of blue flannel — red 
-tripel shirt with broad collar — red tkmnel night-caD — broad leather 

H'l!-. ■-:■ 

ii UTCHE iOI^. — TIic same, v/ith blue shirts and Scotch bonnets. 

DONALD. '' " " " " " " •• 

SANDY and DAVID.— The same as xAdam's. 

.f E AX X IE. —First Act.— Scotch lassie's dress— blue tight-fitting 
■vaist — short kilted skirt — Scotch cap and scarf all of plaid goods, plain 
knit stockings, and slipp©v-s. Third -Act. — House-wife's dress of 
white, vvith low neck and short sleeves, the skirt looped up at back, 
iihowlng- long fancy striped petticoat. liast Act. — Dress of drab or 
grav, witii white kerchief pinned across breast. 

MRS. LINDSAY.— Invalid's loose wrapper. 

GIRZIE. — Fishwife's dress — inan's straw liat — ^linsey-woolsey 
waist, and kilted skirt, looped up back, showing fancy red flannel 
l>etticoat — ribbed woolen stockings — heavy shoes — small plaid sbuwi 
crossed iu front and tied behind— basket offish slang on back. 



T 



^o(\\ 



a 



r^ 



51^ 



Auld Robin Gray. 



ACT I. 

SCENE FIBST. — The Port. Coast in the background; the'shif 
^^ Colin, '^ at dock, read 1/ to sail. Buxes, barrels and bales on eithc 
side. Sailors discovered loading the vessel. Girzie Todd, Sandy an 
Hutchison, talking. Donald among the sailors. 

'Girzie. (cvi/ing her fish) Ilerrin' ! Fine fresh herrin'! Flesh 
from the hook ! ( Solo introduced, '■^ Caller Herrin.^* 

. Sailors. ( loading the vessel ) TTeave, ho ! Heave, ho ! 

Hutch, Heave ahead, my hearties ! 
• Girzie. What are ye all asth* for? 
Hutch. Do you .not see we are jiboiit to set sail? 
Girzie. Not the clay? 
Hutch. Yes, this very hour. 
: Girzie. But man, this is Friday. 

; Hutch, Carrach swore, pe-tam, we would sail with to-day's tide 
^Nhetherit Avas Friday or Saturday. 

Donald. ( coming down ) I'll not go with him anyway, for it's 
Just flying in the face of Providence. 

. Girzie. Aye, man, Ivan Carrach was aye known to be ready to 
flee in the face o' Providence, or any ither bmly tiiat Avas in his way. 
But there's a storm brewing yonder in the lift, that'll maybe make 
•him be sorry for't this time. 

Don. Well, I'll- not go with him, that I'in resolved on. 

( exit L. 1 E. 
" Girzie. An' nae ane will blame ye. But where's that boy 
"SVattie, gone? 

■ Hutch. I saw him wandering up the road leading the donkey 
-cro])ping the grass. 

Girzie. De'il tak' the creature! He's a hautlc mair trouble to me 
than the cuddy. ( as before ) Hcrrin I buy my fat fresh herrin ! 
"^ . . ' {Gerzie exits r. 1 e. ' 

'Hutch. She's a woman A\'ith her hands full taking care of a sim- 
pleton son, a poor dem;^nted being, Mho has not half the sense of his 
mother's donkey. But I wonder where's the skipper? Messmates, 
'where's the skipper, Carrach? 

Sailor. I saw him up at the Port Inn, a while ago. 
Hutch. Stowing away "viskey" as he calls it. 
Sailor. Yes, and a nice humor he'll be in when we set sail. 
T Hitch. Pshaw, mate, CarraA's always soberest when he's driin'r 
—but yonder he comes now. 



AULD It OBI N' GBA7, 
Enter, Ivan Carrach l. 1 e. 



Carmen. Hoo, noo ! ye set o' lazy Heilan priites ! are ye ro.idy to 
slip the cable an' set sail? 

Hutch. Aye, except Simpson, who says he'll not set sail on Fri- 
day. 

Car. He pe-tam. Friday or Sunday, it's a' ane, the tides up an' 
win' favorable. I'll leave to-day if 1 have to man the ship alone, the 
superstitious c'omerils, pe-t-un. 

Hatch. Well, skipper, when you're ready, we are. 

Car. When I am I'll let you know, so you need na put yoursel' 
in a fret about it, my man. *^1'11 gang noo and get my papers frae 
the laird, and see that a' is in ship-shape by the time I come back. 

( exit Carrach l. 1 E. 

Hutch, Aye, aye, sir. 

(busyiufj himself with the rest loading — ejceuntjL, 3. e. 

Enter, Adam Lindsay and Bobin Gray, l. 1 e. 

' Robin. The drunken full ! That man '11 come tae a bad end some 
day yet. But Adam, hoo's your daughter? 

Adam, As guid in soul an' body as ever, Eobin, warkln' awa* 
like a true daughter for her helpless mithcr an' mysel'. 

Bobin. Ahj'but she's a fiiie girl. What a guid wife she'll mak© 
8ome man some day. 

Adam. She sliows her guid bringino' up, an' if any lass deserves a 
guid home an' husband, it's my Jeaunie. 

Bob. What for does she no' get married ? 

Adam. Oh, she's content enough to bide at hame a wee yet. 
Jeames Falcon, an' honester chield wha does na' live in the toon, has 
told his-traith to her, but waiting for the laird tae start him in the 
warld, as he's promised tae do, the lad is no' ready for the hame coin- 
in' yet. 

Bob. A w^el-disposed, weel-spoken lad Jeamio is, but gin he waits 
till the laird finds it in his heart to give him an ootiit he'll bidfi a 
lang while, for a mair selfish, graspin' wretch than Nicol McWhap- 
pie does na' draw the breath o' life, gin I'm no mistaken. 

Adam. Seein' I hae had a bit o' experience wi' the Itiird, I Avinna 
contradict ye, Robin. But I maun gang after my net to tak' hame 
an' mend. {exit k. 1 e. 

Bob. Sae she's 'trathed to Jeamie ! A weel-matched couple they 
will mak'. Heigh-hum ! that's what it is to be youtig an' strappin. 
Yet I'm no' sae auld nor sic' a bad lookin' chiel mysel'. A las3 
niicht tak' anither no' sae auld an' fare warse. Bonnie Jeannle, I 
mind the day she was a wee toddlin' bairn when 1 dandled her on 
my knee; but that's a lang time ago, an' since syne she's grown up 
a shapely woman an' I an old doitered daddy. " Daddy ? deed I'm 
no' that, nor likely to be one either. ( exit r. 1 e. 

Enter, Jeamie and Nicol, l 1 E. 

Nicol. ( tapping snuff-box ) Do ye mean to say Jeamie, that I 
would be guilty of anything dishonorable, or in contravention of tha 
law of the land? 

Jeamie. I'm not to say anything, unless you provoke me, laird. 

Nic. Well, are you ti-ying to threaten me into submission to yoar 
wishes? 



AULD ROBIN GRAY. S 

Jjvn. Threaten? I come to you and tell yon I want to get mar- 
riel and you see no objection to that. Then I remind you that you 
promised to let me have the farm of Askaig some day. 

Nlcol. I'll say that yet, and I never break my word. 

Jeam. Well, I tell you 1 want it now, and you answer by aBldng 
Jiow much money I have to stock it. And when I tell you that 1 
have nothing, you hold up your hands and give me a sermon about 
extravagance and riotous living. 

Nkol, In the Avhich I was but doing my duty as an elder of the 
church and as your friend. i 

Jeam. May be so laird, as an elder it might be your duty to preach, 
but as my friend you knew I never had a chance to be a spendthrift. 
In return for the 'work I have given you withoiit a grumble and 
without a fee, I ask you now to let me have the farm, and give me 
two } ears credit for the stock. ; 

N'col, Which is a very modest demand in your estimation, no 
doubt. (tapping his snuff hoXr\ 

Jeam. Modest enough, considering that I have brouglit a good few^ 
.hundred into your pm-se, besides 1 am going to be married and I j 
'must have the means to keep a wife. | 

Nicol. A very sensible determination Jeamie — I commend your j 
forethought in looking- out for the meal before you bring a hungry | 
mouth to the poi-ridge-pot. That's an excellent principle to observe, j 

Jeam. Thank you for discovering s(« much good in me, but when! 
you answered me with a lot of texts about ingratitude and self- 
seeking, I could not help letting you learn that I knew where a part j 
of your money came from. 

Nicol. You mean of course, your own suspicions, which are not' 
worth anything in a court o' law. But we'll set that aside for the; 
present, and if you please, we'll talk of your own particular affairs. | 

Jeam. That's more to my liking. 

Nicol. Very well ; you have stated your case with as much ability ^ 
as lawyer Carnegie could have done. Now let me state mine. i 

Jeam. Out with it. j 

Nicol. Jeamie, I have been a father to you — you have been treat- 
ed as if you were my own son, and I'm not saying but that I have 
had thoughts of making you my heir. But now you come and make 
a demand upon me, just as though you had a right to, as if you had' 
forgotten you are neither kith nor kin to me. 

Jeanu No, laird, I have forgotten nothing. 

Apical. \Vell, it does no harm to remind you that fifteen years ago, 
a woman with a lad about six years old came to my house. She was ! 
foot-sore and hungry, and I took pity on her. I gave her meat and; 
drink and a bed to lay on. People said I ought to have sent her to' 
the poor-house, but I kept her home in charity. | 

Jeam. Yes, people said, and say, that you had other reasons; 
beside charity for keeping her where nobody could learu what she 
had to say for herself or her child. : 

Nicol. AVell, she died, and I buried her at my own expense in the j 
churchyard. You know where. j 

Jeam. (affected) Yes, I do, well. j 

Nicol. Then her boy, who had no friends that any one knew: 
about, would have had to go to the orphan asylum, but I kept him 
gave him a decent education and bringing up. If he has worked for 
me it was no more than I had a right to expect after all I had done 
far him. Lastly, I think that before he speaks of setting up pf 



i AULD BOBIN GBAY. 

jiimself and asking me for the loan of the necessary capital, he ought 
to think of repaying me the outlay I have been to on his account. 

Jeam. So be it then. I'll pay you every farthing of it if I live, 
but I '11- work no more for you. What is the sum you demand in 
addition to the work you have already had ? 

- Nicol. I could not just exactly tell you at a moment's notice, but 
I'll make up the account. 

Jeam. And I'll pay it,lf I live. But let there be no more talk of 
gratitude between us seeing that I know enough to hang yon if I 
cared to follow up tlie clue. {goinci 

Nicol, Stop a little, Jeamie, lad, stop a little. Although you 
have lost your temper and consequently your common seuse, I still 
have minel You have scarcely a penny in your purse, and yet you 
are tilklng of repaying me may b3 a hundred pounds— just as though 
you had a b ig of gold. I'll not press you for your acoouut, but 
what are you goiug" to do for a living? Hire yourself out? I'll 
•Ive you a recDm3udation. 

Jeam. No, I'll not hire myself out. 

Nlol. Maybe you'd like to turn sailor? 
. Jeam. That is what I mean to do. A sailor has better wages than 
a plowman and more change of makmg money, and I must make 
money. 

Nicol. Jusfc so. Then if you like, I'll speak to Ivan Carrach — his 
brig is to sail to-night and maybe he'll give you a berth if I ask him. 

jsam. I'll accept this service from you because it '11 help me to 
pay your debt the sooner. 

Nicol. Very well, I'll go and see the skipper now — ( asirJe) — and 
I'll double the insurance, then if anything should happen, it's all 
through his own stubbornness — and the Lord's will be done. 

{e.x,it, R. 1 E. 

Jeam. So my foster father will not let me have the Askaig farm ! 
Never mind, my laird o' Clashglrn; the tlm3 may come when you'll 
\vant a favor from m3. "Well, after all I have no right to expect him 
ro make any sacriiicss on my ac;eount— I can work and Jeannie cm 
\vait. Ah, "^here's her father coming now, anil I'll wager she's not 
far behind. 

Enter Adam Lindsai', R. 1 B, 

Adam. Well, Jeames, how's all wi' ye? 

Jeam. So, so. But where's Jeannie ? 

Adam. She's comln' yonder — but what's wrong wi' ye, that ye're 
icowdin' so. 

Jeam. Everything's wvon^ Adam; but you'll know about it sooii 
2inough. I'll tell it to Jeannie first. 

Adam. ( asida ) Somethin's happened atween the lad an' the laird 
likely. I'll leave them alone. ( exit l. 1 e. . 

Enter Jeannie, n. 1 e. 

Jeam. Here you are my sunshine, smiling as usual. 

Jean. And what trouble has befel you laddie, that your brow 
looks clouded ? 

I Jeam. Well, Jeannie, you must know our marriage must be post- 
poned for a year, maybe two years, for the laird has broken his 
promise, and I must go to work for money to buy a home to take 
vou to. 



■ ' ■* -* "-■ -- '- — ' «l 

: Jea\i. We're not tliiit old but wo can wait a year or two Jeamie, 
and niiyb3 it's bi>Xiv sa, for i do not know what inotheT would do if 
.1 \va? out of tlii ho'.i^3. 

Jiim. Yit.i,h\\u I hi 1 hopad to offor yourniDthsf a horn?, with ii.^, 
and no'.v there's iiD chance of that for a long wailo, and the Lord 
Ic lows \vh It may happen b3for3 thou. Th3 oacio^k ii a gloomy oim 
for 115 hyCix. - ■ ' 

J 11:1. E.it we 1133 1 hot; m ike it worse th ii it i3 Je imb, by fright- 
e. ling ourselves with thou^^'lits of bro\val3i au.l kilpiej thitmiy 
n^iver cjiiie near U3. Ti.i3 b 3 it way is to t.i!i:3 a st:)ut hjirt to a steep; 
hill, an I asth3 minister says, 'who knows wh.i: forcu:i3 we'll lind 
when we g3t to t'le topt' 

Jiam. 'ifoa're a se liible lass, yet I did no!: m3in to draw a Ion ^ 
face nor bewail my lot, but to tell you that the thought of you will 
put strength into my heart and arm 5, that for your Bake I will work, 
yes and v/in, too. 

Jii'in. Tiiat's more lilve yourself Jeamie; but whatdo you think 
of doing? Will you fee yourself and work on a farm? 

J.i:t!ii. N"o, lassie; I'm tired of firming with the laird, and I have 
made up ray mind to tik3 a Yoy.i:y:i where str,mg3 sights will malw 
the time p iss faster, until I come back and make yoii my own wife. 

Jean. Ilest assured, no matter where you are, my thoughts anil 
prayers will.be with you. ( D.t,3t — " W.'isu 1/3 gi,ij aio.y Jeamie." 
_ ..Jeam. Nov/ honey, Avill you not walk a bit down by the water, 
\^^iere we can tell our troth as we h ive ofcen done to the whispering 
sea, over which I will soon be sailing? 

Jean. Yes, laddie; and afcer this when I hear it I will think ic 
whispers of you, and my thoughts will go to you across th3 blue. 

( ex.iurit arr.i in ar.n u 'd n, , 

Enter Carnegie ar/2 Xicol, k. 1 e. ' 

Carnegie. Well laird, here's your insurance papers duly and for- 
mally drawn up; but I cannot help expressing my opinion that th^i 
insurance is a pretty heavy onai'or such ali«3'ht freight. ( gices paper j 

Nicul, You are welcome to. your opinion lawyer ; the cargo ij 
well worth the indemnity 1 take out for it. 

Carnegie. Maybe so ; but the company I am agent for, may think 
differently if they should be called upon to pay it, should anything 
befall the vessel. 

Nicol. They take their risks as well as myself; besides you see, 
Carrach's bound to set sail to-day. 

Carnegie. Do(i3 that make it any more dangerous ? 

Nicol. But it is Friday ! 

Carnegie. Och, dang the superstition ! Every day is a good day ; 
if not what for does the tide rise, the wind blow, and the sun shine? 

Nicol. Sure enough. Of course 1 don't see any difference my- 
self — I merely expressed the common belief among the sailors. 

Carnegie. Well, if a man's intentions be good and his work hon- 
est and lawful, he has nothing to fear on Fridiiy any more than oa 
any other day. Good day. ( exit l. 1 e. 

Nicol. ^^ii a man's intentions be good, and his work honest and 
lawful ! " I wonder if he suspects what I'm about ! 
Enter ^ Ivan Carrach, l. 1 e. 

Car, Ah, ye was here ! I thought ye were not comiii' to let ma 
get away this tide. 



8 . AULD BOBIX GBAT. 

Nicol. I have been delayed in getting out the insurance papers ; 
but are you determined to get off to-day 'i 

Car. Aye am I, and pe-tani to the superstitious fuils who'll not 
sail with me. 

Nbcol. How many men have you ? 

Car. Only three beside mysel'. 

Nicol. But you cannot work the brig with only yourself and 
three men. 

Car. Oh, I'll just drop into the first port and get all the hands I 
MMit. Gie us a pinch frae your mull. {reaching for snuff-box 

Enter Girzis, slihj, R. 3 E. 

Girlie. ( asirle) What ! The laird and Carrach wi' their heads 
together? There's mischief afoot I'll warrant. I'll hide and hear 
what they say. ( listens 

Nicol. Well, if you had but three hancll, w^ould you be more apt 
to meet with mishaps ? 

Car. 1 dinna ken but I might find it difficult to save the ship 
should I get cauglit in a storm. 

Nicol. Then do not stop and get any more men. 

Car. What do ye mean? Oh, 1 see, ye 

NicoL {puttin'j his fingir to his lips) Hus-h, man, you know my 
meaning and thai's enough. 

Car. But yer lairdship, my post as skipper? ^^-a, 

Nicol. Never mind your place as skipper — should yon lose the 
Colin, I'll get you a faster antl better ship; besides here's what'll do 
away with your fears on that s.*ore. {gives him money 

Car. Thank ye, that's a' right. 

Nicol. And here's your bill of lading. ( gives it 

Car. Very weel. [looks at it) Whatl Value five hundred 
poun's — that's 

NicoL Hush, man ! Put it in your pocket. 

Car. {putting it in his pocket ; Oh, nye, now I seel 

Nicol. And now my man, you know Jeames Falcon? 

Car. Aye, that stnippin', saucy lad? 

Nicol. Yes. Well, I have found out he knows more about the 
doings of you and I than would be best to let get out. . 

Car. What ! Apout the smugglin' ? 

Nicol. Hush, man. Yes. Now he has taken it into his head to go 
to sea, and I want yon to give him a place on the Colin. 

Car. Ah, ye want to g(*c him out o' the way? 

A'^icol. Yes; and I would not cry my eyes out if anything serious 
happened to him on the voyage. 

Car, I take the hint. Let me count the silver, {aside ) Oom- 
hoo, my laird ! So you wadna care if I should lose the brig nn' the 
lad at the same time, eh? Let's see how much ye pay me for it. 

Girzie. ( aside) A fine elder o' the kirk ye are, ye hypocritical 
deevil ye ! But I'll try and circumvent ye in tiie heUish plots 
ye're pl'inning. {exit n. 'Si^. 

Nicol. { aside ) If my plans do not w^ork out as I want them to, 
it will be the fault of the tool and not the planner. 

Car. { having countel themone;,') Thank ye, laird, it's a' right. 
' Nicol. You understand then Carrach, it would be no great loss 
to you or me, if anytlung happened the brig— and the lad is trouble- 
sorjc and might do you harm. 



AULD BOBIN GRAY. f 

Car. I know all apout it. 

Nicol» Od ! It's extraordinar' ! Here's the lad himself 1 

Enter, Jeaniie, l . 3 e. 

Nicol. I have spoken to Carrach, Jeamie, and arranged every- 
thing for j^ou Avith him; hut you can speak to him yourself now,' and 
I'll see you when you get through. {^stands apart 

Car. So you be that lad ? 

Jeam. I suppose so ; will I do ? 

Car. You'll no' be 'fraid to sail on a Friday ? 

Jeam . No. 

Car. Then you'll do ; and as I want to clear the port afore twelve 
if it's possible, shust to spite them goraerils who are 'fraid of the 
Friday, the sooner you're on board the petter — pe-tam. ( exit R. 

Nicol. (adoaming) Well, lad, have you engaged yourself to the 
skipper? 

Jeam. Yes, sir; and glad I am of the chance to get away and ear* 
my own living. 

Nicol. Od! It's extraordinar' ! Well, well, go your own way, 
Jeamie, lad, but ye'll travel atlay and a night before ye find a home 
like the one ye leave behind. 

Jeam. For what you have done, lah-d, accept my thanks; for 
what you might have done — well, I had no right to expect it. 

Nicol. Well, I must go, and since you're bound to sail, good-speed 
and a pleasant voyage, should 1 not see you again. 

Jeam. Thank ye. 

Nicul. (aside) Od! It's extraordinar' ! (exit r.1e» 

Enter, Hutchison, l. 3 e. 

Hutch, Are you the lad the skipper shipped for a voyage on th© 
Colin? 

Jeam, Yes, mate; my name's Jeames Falcon, and well met am I 
with such a good -hearted mess-mate as I know you to be. 

Hutch. Thank you. Here's my hand, and may we sail many a 
voyage together — but the skipper's waiting for yoiE. 

Jeam. Is he? I'm loth to delay him, but j'ou see I'm expecting 
my lass doAvn Mdth a few clothes I want to take with me. 

Hutch. Then come as quick as you can, for the skipper is in no 
very good humor at being kept waiting — and a caution for friend- 
ship's sake — bear yourself as evenly as possible 

Jeam. What do you mean? 

Hutch, You see the rest of the crew saw you talking with the 
laird just now, and I fear they take it ill. 

Jeam.. 111! How, man? 

Hutch. To speak plain, they suspicion you, 

Jeam. Suspicion me of what? 

Hutch. Of being a spy. 

Jearii. Why slioald they think that — I have given them no cause? 

Hutch. Maybe not, but they know you're a friend of the owner, 
and have an idea that you may tell of any ongoings that might not 
be according to rule. 

Jeam What, me ? If they only knew how little friendship there 
is between the laird and me, they woidd soon get rid of that idea. 

Hutch, I'm glad to hear you gay"t. Come aboard as quick as 
you can. (exit, l. 3 k. 



^ 'AULD ROBIN GBAr,- 

Enter, Glrzie, r. 1 E. 

Girzie. There's the chiel alone now— I'll speak to him and warn 
hhn in time. 

Jeam. Hallo! Who's th;it? 

Glrzie. 'DeeLlj.and it's just me, Glrzie Todd, and I hae' been 
lookin' for yQ, 

Jeam. Lookino; for nie? What for, Gh-zie ? 

Glrzie. Adam Lindsay told me j'e were to sail in the Colin. 

Jeam. And so I iim; I'm going on board now, as she sails to- 
night. What then? 

Girzie. I wanted to warn you no' to gang wi' Ivan Carrach. 
I Jeam. And why not? 

Girzie. Ye'U maybe think it an old wife's notion, but listen — y^ 
want to come back and marry Jeannie, and ye'li never come back if 
ye gang in that boat. 

Jeam. Pshaw, Girzie, why should I not go in the Colin us well aa 
any other? 

Girzie. Because the (^olin is fZownecZ/ 
I Jeam. How do you happen to know all this? 

Girzie. I canna' tell any more, aii'l if it htidna' been for Jeannie's 
isalte, I wouldna' have said as muckle. But gang ye in the Colin, 
aud ye'U never be guidman to Jeannie Linds:!}^. 

Jeam. li any danger threatens tlte brig, that's all the more reason 
why I should be aboard, for if I can save her, it'll maybe rei^ay 
some of the debt I ov»e iJlashgirn. 

Girzie. Have yer way. I iiave done all I can to save ye. 

Jeam. What's got into the Fishwife's liead? She's surely been 
drinking, or is uncanny ! Ah, here comes my lass ! 

Enter, Jeannie, r. 1 e. 

Jeam. Well, sweetheart, you have come at l:ist? 

Jean. Yes, ladrde. I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long, but 
besides getting your clothes, 1 had to see to mother a bit, who's 
worse to-day, 

Jeam. 1 am sorry to hear it, but take heart Jeannie. I have but 
a crown, and to make that crown a pound, I am going away to sea 
and when I return I'll make things easier for your folks as well as 
yourself. 

Jean. We will live in hope and trust to Providence. 
" Jeam. 'Now lassie, 1 mu.st leave you; the anchor is weighed and I 
must go, but it's a heavy heart 1 leave behind. 

Jean. Cheer up, I'll keep your heart warm in my bosom until 
you return to give me your liand in exchange. I 

Jeam. Lord love and bless you, lass, for those words; they will 
ring in my ears wiien 1 am far a\N'uy. 

Jean. One last embrace, Jeamie. ( they embrace 

I Jeam. Lord, lassie, how your iieart thumps! 

Jean. Yes, leaping witli love, and throbbing v^^ith pain at the 
thought of parting. 
. Jeam. If it grieves you so much, I'll not go away. 

Jean. Say not that,' but go tlie way Providence or fate has set 
before you. 

Jeam. One more kiss, the last alone, my lass, for yonder some 
foJ lis are coming. 



A VLB i? OBIX GBA Y. It 

' Jeaft* My father, Robin Gray, Wattie and others, come to see you 

x>fr. 

Entsr, Adam Lindsay^ Bobin Gray, Mondnff, Carnegie, Wattie and 
Nicol, L. 1 E. 

Jeam. Well met, friends, and thank you for the friendly part of 
coming to see me off. 

Bobin. It's nae mair nor a neighbor's duty, Jeamie. 

Adam. Aye, lad, and well I ken you will he missed by one at any 
rate. 

Jeam, If there's one misses me when I'm gone, I'll be sure of 
one welcome when I come back. 

Bobin. Ye'll be sure o' mair than one welcome, for a' yer friends 
'11 be glad to greet ye, my lad. 

Adam. My^lass here, Avill miss ye in the long glo^inin', when tjie 
w6vk is done, an' she sits by the door alone. 

Jean. Yes, father, that will I, but looking over the sea, my heart 
will be with Jeamie, my own true love. ( sobbing. 

Bobin. Bat if it grieves ye so, l.iss, what for will the lad leave ye? 

Jeam. To earn some n)oney, Robin, to bu}'" her a home. 

Bobin. I thought the laird here, was bounden to gie ye a start. 
How is this, Clashgirn'? What for will ye let Jeamie leave to get a 
livin', when he's been dependin' and lookin' to you tor't? 

NicoK The lad must wait till times are better and money not 
pcarce, when I a\ ill give him the Askaig place as I promised, but if 
he will sow his wild oats abroad, why he may then for all me. 

Bobin. Weel, Jeamie, if that's a' what's wantin' to keep ye at 
home, for your lassie's s;3ke I'll start ye wi' stock an' house wi' my 
own silver, an' not let ye be beholden to any laird. 

Xicol. Od ! It's extraordinar' that every one thinks a laird's 
purse is never empty I 

J;iam. Thank you, Robin, for your friendly offer, but as a man, 
well in body, I cannot accept it. My lass must wait till T return 
V. ith eiionoii of my ov\"ii earnings to get a farm, when we'll settle 
■down, weii off and content. • 

Jea?'. And willing am I to wait till then, my lad. 

Adaui. An' as her father, I'll no' see her want. 

Bi'bin. Xor will I as her auld friend an' neighbor. 

Jeam. Well, leaving her in such good haiids, I bid you all fare- 
well. ( shaking hands. 

Bobin. Farewell, Jeamie, an' a pleasant voyage. 

Ada^ii. God speed ye laddie, wi' the best o' success. 

Carne;;ie. A eafe passage and quick return. 
^ ytondujj'. The Lord prosper you James, in the strange path that 
lie-; before j^ou. Before you go, accept of this bible — read it 
constantly, and remember that you are as safe on the sea as on land, 
.when you are in God's care. {presenting hook, 

Jeavi. Thank you. 

Xicol. { o:(J>,ring his hand ) Good bye, Jeames. : 

Jeam. Well, I don't know — but there. {they shake hands. 

Nicol. ( aside ) Od ! It's extraordinar' ! (takes snuff. 

Wctiic. What for are ye all cry in''? 

Bobin. Toots, ye fail,, dinna' ye see that friend Jeamie's goings 
av/av? 

Wattii 

Jeam. Not this time. 

Wattie. Will you';tho next? 



1^"*- -- AULD R OBIN GRA 7. 

\ Jeam. I will not promise, but I'll see. Now, farewell my lass. . 
L Jean. Farewell, my lad, a fond farewell. 

Me anbraces her and is about to go on board, when Girzie steps out from 
behind a bale and stops him. 

Girzie. Hold, I tell ye ! Gang ye not on the Colin, or sadly 
ye'll rue it. 

Adam. Girzie, what do ye mean? 

Robin. The auld wife is surely daft. 

Nicol. No, she's superstitious, and fears for the fate of the Colin 
if it sails to-day — Friday. 

Robin. Ha,'ha, ha! That's it! 

Girzie. Weel, hae your own way, an' rue the day. 

Jeamie steps on board and stands throicing a kiss to Jeannie who 
faints, supported by her father. The rest wave their hats, Girzie 
shaking her fist threatningly in the laird'' s face, TABLE A U — Thi 
Ship^s Departure. 

END OF ACT FIRST. 



ACT II. 

SCEXE FIRST.— Interior of xidam's cottage. White hare walls 
in the centre of the background; window l. c; practical door e. c; 
curtained bed built in icall e.; door l.; table c; lounge l.; easy chair 
R. Stage dark — Tableau of Ship on Fire seen through transparent back 
icall. Mrs. Lindsay discovered in bed asleep, and Jeannie in a troubled 
sleep on the lounge, as the dream fades and the light dawns, 

Jean. ( in her sleep) Woe is me ! Woe is me ! ! 

Adam, (without, l. ) Jeannie ! Jeannie ! 

Jean. ( starting) Oh, heaven ! who called me ? Such a fearful 
dream ! 

Adam. Jeannie, daughter, do you no' hear me ? 

Jean. Is that 3^ou, father? 

Adam. Aye. Bring me a drink o' water, I'm so dry and feverish. 

Jean. Yes, father, wait a minute and I'll bring you a cup of milk 
fresh from the cow. ( exit d. 

Enter Adam, l. icith his arm in a sling, 

Adam., Are ye wauken, wife? (loaking her, 

Mrs L, (sitting up ) Is that you, guidman? 

Adam. Aye, an' no better to-day, confoun' the luck. 

Mrs L. Since it be the will o' the Lord, bear it man with chris- 
tian humility and fortitude. 

Adam. It's weel enougli to talk, but how can ye expect a man not 
to complain who's owiu' rent an' not able to work, with naebody to 
depend on but a frail daughter? 

Mrs L. Thank God A\'e have her, Adam, to sustain and help us, 
now that we are not able to help ourselves. 

Aaam, What's keepin' her? 

Enter Jeannie at door, i. 
Well; lasS; have ye brought me a drink o' milk? 



AULD B 0BI2T QBA T, IS 

Jean. !N'ot yet, father — I went to get you some but found 
Crummie gone. 

Adam, Gone ! Gone where ? 

Jean, I do not know; I hunted down the road, thinking she had 
got loose from tether and had gone to graze, but I could not see her, 
and I fear slie has been taken away. 

Adam, Ta'en awa' ! Ta'en awa' ! How could anybody take her 
avva' ? She is no' a wee thing to be crammed into a tinker's pocket. 

J&an. Xo, father; but they may have driven Iier away while the 
storm was blowing so loud that we heard no disturbance. 

Adam, The cow stolen awa' ! It's no' possible'. Ye were surely 
c.'ueless and did not tie her well last night. 

Jean, I did, father, as I always do. 

Adam, How could she get awa' then? Ow! it does seem as 
though ruin vras bound to come on me in my auld age. 

Entery Monduff' at practical door, loith basket. 

2Ton, Why, Adam, what is the use of bewailing your fiite that 
way ? Cheer up, man— you'll be able to go about your work in a 
day or two. 

Adam, It's not my broken arm I'm bewailing — it's my stolen cow. 

Mon, Your stolen cow ! 

Adam. Yes, Crum.nle has been stolen awa' by the tinker gypsies, 

Mon. The barefaced rascals ! 

Adam, Yes, and the cow was the only thing left to gie us a bite 
an' a sup. 

Mrs L. The Lord's will be done. 

3fon. That's riglit Mrs. Lindsay; bear your burden meekly. But 
here's a lump of ham, and some eggs for you. (gives them. 

Mrs L. Thank you for your kindness. 

3Ion. And you, man, hold up your head and do not groan so, for 
since you're not able to go yourself, I'll go and see if I can find the 
cow or catch the thief. 

Adam. He should be hanged for robbin' a poor man like me. 

3Ion. And you, lass, stop your crying and get your mother some 
breakfast. {Song — "TAe Woe f u^ Heart. ''^ 

Jean. Very well, sir, I will. {exit Monduff at p. d. \ 

Adam. Come here, Jeannie — I didna' mean to speak harsh to ye, ' 
but what with yer mither sick, mysel' disabled frae work, and the 
cow stolen awa' — it's enough to make any man lose his temper. 

Jean. Say no more about it, father. With the help of God, we'll 
bear up till Jeamie comes home, then we'll all live in our own house 
together with plenty. 

; Adam. Yes, but who's to pay the rent that's owin', and will be 
;due the laird afore then? 
- , Jean. Trust to Providence. Come, mother. 

Mrs L. Yes, the Lord's will be done. ( exit Jeannie and Mrs. L. L. ' 

Enter Bohin Graij, p. d. 

f Bohin. AYeel Adam, I hae brought a bottle o* guid French brandy 
;for ye — an' how are ye to-day ? 

i Adam. Fairly, thank ye— that is, as wee! as can be expected in. a 
jman as sorely troubled as I am, an' not able to work. I fear me it'll , 
be a ^vhile afore I get the use o.' my arm. j 

• Bobin. But ye're 'gettin' on bravely for a' that, an' ye'll be a' 
right in time. 



14 AULB BOBIN GBAY. 

Adam. Ab, in time, no doubt! But Lord knows what we're ta 
do, biding thit tiina. 

Rohin. Hero, hae a (\v5im.— {giving him a drinJc) But what's 
wrong, man ! Achat's wrong ? 

Adcuu. E /erytliing's wrong—onr cow's been stolen. 

llobin. "5rour covv'stolen awa' ? 

Adam. Ye?, au' the aald wife's gettin' worse and worse, an' my- 
gel' in this condition, and Jeannie wrought clean oft' her feet without 
m.'iking any better o't. Is no' th-it enough to m ike a man who was 
r.slcin' no "one a penny till now, as sour as a crab apple? An' to 
back it a', there's the laird hirplin here day after day about his rent, 
an' no Wny that I know to pacify him. 

Rohin. An' ye're ovvin' him rent? 

Adam., Aye. The fishin's been so poor o' late, I hae fell behinJ 
wi' Clashgh-n, whom I'm expectin' thi^ very liour. 

PU'hin. Hoots, man ! why 'did you not let, me know that afore? I 
co!iid ha' set your mind at rest without any' trouble. 

Adam. I know that, but Jeannie an' her mither was bidding rao 
bear my own burden— and I never cared mysel' to be beholden to 
anybody. 

. Eoiv'u. Aye, but ye'll except me, Adam. Siy nothing about it, 
an' I'd settle wi' the lainl, thougii I'd rather deal wi' anybody but 
Uim since we had that dispute about the line fence. 

Adam. Thank ye, Carnieford. If ye'll oblige me, I'U be able to 
pay ye back 

Rohin. We'll talk about that ngain. Hark! A horse's tramp! 
The laird's comin' now. Gang in the tither room, an' I'll meet an' 
gettle wi' the mar., though I liad as soon dieiver with the de'il. 

Adam. Weel, just as you say. {exit, l. 

Enter, Girzie, R. 

Girzie. ( at the door) Watty, gie the cuddy his peck o' meal, an' 
eat the piece that's in the pouch j'ersel'. 

Robin. ( aside ) It's no' the laird— it's the fishwife. 
' G-ir.rie. Some fine fresh herrin' tiie day, Mrs. Lindsay? Hallo! 
you here ? Wliere's the folks, Mr. Eobin ? 

Robin. In the hoose at their breakfast? 

G-irzie. An' how are they, to-day? 

Robin. Xot very happy, seein' their co^y has been stolen awa'. 

Girzis. God help then. Tiien it's too true that misfortunes never 
come single. 

Robin, ( ftoing ) Aye, but I must say good day to ye. 

Girzie, Bide a wee, Carnieford, there's ill news come home this 
fine moriiin' for some folks ye care about. 

Robin. What news, good"^ woman ? 

Girzie. The news is that the Colin's been burned at sea, and 
Jeames Fidcoji has been drowned or burned wi' her. 

Robin. Heaven save us, woman, what are ye sayin'? 

Girzie. What's true, I'm thinkin'. Ivan Carrach landed here 
this moruin' wi' the news, an' he's up at ths^ L-drd's now. 

Robin. But— are ye sure that Falcon is dead ? 

Girzie. /Vsk the laird.. 

■Robin. But how do yon ken this? 

Girzie. Nae mittcr— ask the laird and Carrach if it is no' true, 
and then ye can tell Jeannie. 

Robin, 'isio, Girzie, I canna' do that! But you are a friend to 
both her an' me— gang in yerselfan' tell her, if you're sure it's true. 



AULD BOBIN GBAY^ 1& 

I vc\\\ see the laml and Carrach, since yonder they're comin'. But 
break it to her kindly. 

Girsie. I'll do your biddins^ for the sake o' the idnd word and 
bag o' meal ye had for my Wattle. Dinna fear for Jeannie, she is 
j^oun.o^ an' hearty, an' she'll get over this afore long, and it's an ill 
windVaat tills naebody's sailsj" even though there's a smell o' brim- 
stone intiirt. {exit, l. d. 

Enter, Nicol and Carrach, p. d. 

XicoL Hallo ! Cairnieford, is that you ? I'm glad to see you. 

Bohin, I canna' say the same for you. 

NicM. Well, well, you need not be so cross. I thought you were 
to let bygones be bygones. 

JRobin. Bygones are bygones \vi' me, so far that I hae no thoughia 
o' bringin' them up. 

NicoL Where are the folks of the house? 

Bobin. Where in their trouble they dinna' wish to^be fashed by 
you. I suppose ye hae come after Adam Lindsaj^'s reiitV 

Nicol. Yes, six pounds he is owing me. 

Bobin. Weil, here, I am ready to pay it, and when you hae given 
me a quittal, I hae a question to ask you. 

Nicol. Oil ! It's quite exti-aordinar' ! And so you are going to 
pay Adam Lindsay's rent? Well, Adam is an honest man, and he's 
got a bonnie daughter. 

Bobin. That's neither here nor there — here's your money in 
notes — count them. 

Nicol. They're right, no doubt — ' looking them over) — and here is 
the receipt. < (jives it. But you were saying there was a question — 

Bobin. ^ Aye. I want to ken if it is triic that the Colin has been 
lo?t, and Jeames Falcon has gone down wi' her? 

Nicol. It is true, though who told you I cannot guess, as I'^vas 
the lirst to know it a :i"ew hours since. The brig was one of the best 
that ever sailed, but she v/as burned, and my poor young friend who 
was trying to save the papers and log, was either killed by the ex- 
plosion of a barrel of gunpowder, or drowned. Is not that the way 
Of it, Carrach? 

Car. Aye. He was a prave lad, but the 'splosion was too strong 
for him — pe-tarn, 

Bobin. And boo muckle did you gain by it, Mister JSTicol? 

Nicol. I? I was the one who lost by the accident. 

Bobin. So you say; but you ken and I ken, Nicol McWhapple, 
there are reasons why I should doubt your word — e3i)eeiully when it 
concerns Jeames Falcon. * (exif, p. d. 

Nicol. Od ! It's extraordinar! 

Car. Aye ! It was — pe-tam ! 

Enter, Carnegie^ p. D. 

Carnegie. Hallo, McWhapple; you here? 

Nicol. Yes, it is myself. Have you heard from the company yet? 

Carnegie. Yes, I have just heard from them. 

Nicol. And they found the policy, and the affidavits of the crew 
all right? 

Carnegie. Satisfactory, with the exception of the lacking presence 
e€ the mate, Hutchison. 

Nicol. Of course they must find fault with something. Well I 
?*iould like a settlement as soon as possible. Come, Carrach, let n-' 



16 A ULD BOBIN GBA Y, 

\ Carnegie. By the way, did j^oii hear ? The coast guards say thera 
has been a heap of smiiggliii' hereabout? 
I Car. Eh! What's that? 

Nicol. Sniugglin's au awful ruination to honest traders. 

Carnegie. You do a little in the brandy and tobacco line, don't you ? 
I Nicol. Yes, at times. 

Carnegie. Then you'll be glad to know that the guagers are on 
the track of the smugglers, and'are determined to put them down. 

Nicol. A good thing for honest trade— a good thing I Good day 
to you, Carnegie. 

Carnegie. Good day. 

Car. ( aside ) Bad" day to ye, and— pe-tam I 

{exit, Nicol and Carrach, p. i>. 

Carnegie. He winced when I give him a dab. Xow I'll go in and 
see how Adam and his family are getting along. (exii, lu B. 

Enter, G-irzie and Jeannie, l, d, 

Jean. Drowned? Drowned? 

Girzie. Aye, lassie. 

Jean. How can I bear it ? How cnn I bear it ? 

Girzie. Just like other folks. It is hard to think of it at first, but 
it's \^-onderful how one's sorrow softens after a day or two, when a 
thing is past help. 

Jean. But it cannot — it cannot be true ! 

Girzie. I would say 'it cannot ])e true' if it would do any good to 
tell a lie, but it avouIcI be a lie, an' you'd be so much the worse for it 
afterwards. 

Jean. But there was no one saw him go do^^-n? 

Girzie. But there was no one saw him come up, either. Ye need 
no' be deceiving yoursel' for expecting miracles. I have h"ad more 
sorrow hoping "for what was imj^ossible, than I ever had from real 
misfortune. 

Jean. Drowned, drowned! My Jeamie drowned, and me think- 
ing day and night of him coming home to save us from all our 
troubles. Had it not been for tliat, I would not have been able to 
bear up at all, and now ( throivs herself on her knees, and bu- 
ries her face in the bed, sobbing bitterly.) 

Girzie. Toots, Jeunnie ! Do not take on so — it Avill not bring him 
back. Cheer Uj), and do your duty by the auld folks,' and remember 
tliere's as good fish in the sea as ever came out o't, whatever one may 
think of their last tishin'. ( about to go. 

Jean. O, woe is me ! O, woe is me ! 

Enter, Bobin Gfay and Wattie, v. d. 

Girzie. Well, Cjsirnieford, the blow has been struck, anci its no' 
with pleasure I did it. Poor lass ! 

Wattie. What for is Jeannie eiyin', mother? 

Girzie. Because Jeamie Falcon is drooned. 

Wattie. Drooned ! "Where ? 

Girzie. At the bottom of the sea — he's dead, we'll never see him 
again. {going. 

Bobin. Well, Girzie, an' must ye be off? 

Girzie. Aye, I hae my day's work afore me yet. {aside to Bobin) 
I would no' say much about it to Jeannie, she's takin' it sore to heart. 

{exit icith Wattie, p. t>. 

Bobin. Poor lass ! I feel so sorry for her, and fain would comfort 
her. 

Jean. Jeamie drowned ! It cannot be I 



AULD BOBIN GBAY, 11 

t 

■ Bohin, It's too true, lassie. 

Jean. Is it you, Mr. Grray ? " {risuuf, 

Jlohiiu Aye. I brought ye a few things I thought ye might need. 

Jean. You are plaeing us under new obligations every day. 
(lynping her eyes and taking basket) And now I do not think we siiali 
ever be able to iDay you back. 

Jiohin. Dinna speak o' that. An' here's a bottle of medicine the 
doctor gave me for your father. ( handing her a bottle. 

Jean. Ah, poor father ! What a sad lookout there it? for him now 
that all my briglit prospects are dashed away. O, woe is me! 

liobin. Dinna allow yourself to be carried away wi' grief for the 
dead — think o' the livin' — your father and mither, who need your 
dutiful care. 

Jean, i dnjing her eyes ) That is so. Thank you for your friendly 
words — I have nothing now to live for but to care for my parent.s. 

Bobin. iVye — an' here's a bottle o' wine for your mitlier — an' liow 
is she now ? 

Jean. Better, and she's fallen asleep now. 

Bobin. That's weel — and — and Jeannie, there's something I have 
wanted to say to ye a long time. 

Jean. What is it, Mr. Gray '? 

Bobin. I want ye to marry me, Jeannie. 

Jean. Oh, no, you do not ! 

Bobin. It's the plain truth, an' that's tlie way ye can relievo 
yourseP o' all the weight o' debt ye fancy ye are owin' me. 

Jean. Woe is me ! Woe, is me ! 

Bobin. I'm an auld man may be for such a young lass, but yc 
would no' find any dillerence in me as long jts*^! live. I'll try to 
make you happy, lass, and yoiw father and mither coinforlahh.'. 
That's all I hae to saj'. 

Jean. You have been a good friend to us at our sorest need, and if 
you had asked me to lay ilown my life for you, I would have done it 
^viilingly; but I cannot, cannot, be your wife when 1 think of him 
tliat's away. 

Bobin. Ye cannot b^ his now, or I Avould no' hae spoken. But 
ye can if ye will, mak' three folk happy — for their sakes Jeannio. 
dinna refu.'^e me. 

Jean. I know that he is away, but my thouglits are with him yet , 
and I could not be a true wife always thinking of him. Tiiere is 
nothing for me to do now, but to help my lather and nK»tho]-. 

Bobin. Ye'll do that best as mistress o' (Jairrnerord. an' yoiir 
memory o' Jeames Falcon will no' mak' ye a bit worse a v^'ife. 

Jean. Give me a while to think — I cannot answer you now. 

Bobin. May be I should no' hae spoken yet, biit it's hccn hnrd 
work to keep the upper hand o' the thought;s Ihat hae bCvMi niiuiiiig 
through my head. Jeannie, ye hae been like the light o' iicaven to 
ine. God forgive me it it be wrong to feel i-o. 

Jean. Oh, clo not say any more ! 

Bobin. 1 must speak out now, if it was rlio last time I vr.-),s ever to 
f^peak to ye. I ken how ridiculous it is f'>r n man liive i;ic to uf. 
R,peakin' that way, but dinna ye ]au,a,]i at me, for that would driv*' 
me mad — though may be I deserve it. 

Jean. Heaven knows how I wish I could give you such a lieint as; 
you deserve. 

Bobin. Those were sweet words to one that never ]ine\v whiit it 
was to hae anybody to love him for his- own sake. Ye nect] no' 
drjiw from me, Jeannie— powerful though this passion be, il ha.< no' 



^iS ' ._.... AULD BOBIX CtBAY. 

the power to mak' me forget that I am Kobin Gray, two score an* 
ten, an' ye are a young lassie whose kmd heart pities me, but can do 
no more. 

Jean. I would do anything in the world but that to please you. 

Bobin, And this is the only thing in the world that can please 
me. If ye will come to my home and'bring the sunshine into it, ye 
will never haye cause to son•o^^', if it be in the power o' mortal man 
to mak' ye happy. 

Jean. I have no d(>ubt of that. 

Bobin. An' ye will promise to be the guidwife o" Cainiieford? 

Enter, Adam suddenly, l. d. 

Adam. Ayg, an' ye will hae my good will to it. 

Bobin. Thank ye, Adam, but it'is the lassie's I Avant first. 

Adam. Ye'll hae that, Cairnieford, j^-e'll hae that. Go into the 
room a while Avi' the guidwife. 

Bobin. Very well. (exit, l. d. 

Adam. Well, what answer are ye going to "give Cairnieford? 

Jean. O. woe i« me ! O, woe is me ! 

Adam. What's wrong, lass ? Do ye not hear what I am sayin' ? 

Jean. Yes, father, I hear you. 

Adam. What for did ye no' speak then ? 

Jean. I was going to speak, father, if you had given me time. I 
have been thinking of it, and-^and 

Adam. Weel, what are yehir^jlin' at now? 

Jean. I do not think I ought — I do not think I can. 

Adam. What? Dinna think ye can marry him? Is he no' a 
weel doing man, an' a kind hearted man, an' all that any sensible 
woman v»ould desire ? 

Jean. He is all that you say, and more, but I cannot marrj^ him, 
or anylDOdy. 

Adam. An' vrhat for, no? 

Jean. For the reason I gave him — I am not fit to be any man's 
wife with all my heart lying out yonder with .Jeamie in the sea. 

Adam. Ye canna' marry a droonecl man can ye? Ye will no' get 
such another chance as Cairnieford's this twelvemonth and more. 

Jean. 1 do not want an offer, father — I do not want to marry. 

Adam. You would drive a saint out o' his wits wi' anger. A 
nice thing for a man come to my years, that has wrought hard a' my 
days to gie ye a decent up-bringin', to find that my own daughter 
winna do my biddin'. 

Jean. I never refused to do your bidding before, father, and I 
would not now, but I cannot help it. 

Adam. Why? Do j'^e n,®' like the man ? 

Jean. Yes. 

Adam. Then what was it? Was it because ye just wanted to an- 
ger me ? Ye Avill bo nae daughter o' mine if ye dinna tell Cairnie- 
lord that ye will tak' him and'be thankfu'. 

Jean. 6, woe is me I O, woe is me ! 

Adam. It's the most extraordinary nonsense I ever heard tell of, 
to think that ye hae your face against me and your mither, and a 
man like Cairnieford, and for no other reason than that the man ye 
Avanted is drooned. Xow hear me; I lay my commands upon ye "to 
answer Cairnieford as I want ye to, an' if ye don't, ye'll be the^ suf- 
ferer. And as for me and your mither, we are not long for this 
world now, but I didna' expect that our last days were to be made 
miserable by the disobedience of our only child. 



AULD EOBIN GRAY. M 

Jean, O, woe is me ! O, woe is me ! 

Adam. I'll gang and send Eobin in— and remember your duty as 
Biy daughter. {exit. l. d. 

Jean. My duty! O, God, show me the right way, for I do not 
wish to turn aside from the path of duty. O, woe is me"^! Woe is me ! 

Enter, Eohin, l. d. 

liobin. ( aside ) Yonder she is, poor soul ! I have half a mind to 
to gie it up, yet what will brcome o' her and her helpless folk ! 
Jeannie, lassie, I am waiting for my answer. 

Jean. You wish to know what I have determined on? 

Eobin. There is ho use concealing it, Jeannie — ^ I hae poor 
patience when I'm set on anything, till I ken the best or worst o't — 
and the hope and fear o' your answer has put me in such a state as 
is no' pleasant to be kept waiting in. 

Jean. I'll not keep you waiting long. I have made up my mind 
to tell you the truth, and let you decide for yourself. 

Eobin. The truth! What about? 

Jean. About myself. You know all about Jeamie, and you have 
said it would make no difterence. That is another reason for the 
honor and respect I bear j^ou, besides what you have done for me 
and mine. But I cannot care for you as I cared for" him, and if I 
was alone, I would say 'no' to your offer, because I honor you and 
think you should have a Avife deserving of you. 

Eobin. But what better would it be if I did not care for her ? 

Jean. I cannot answer that. But I was going to say that I am 
not alone, and for the sake of them that need mylielp, for the sake 
of all we are owing you, I'll be your wife, and I'll try to be a faith- 
ful one. 

Eobin. It's a bargain ! {grasping her hand and kissing her) And 
that's the earnest. 

Jean. You will not heed my being a little quiet — it is more in my 
heart to weep than smile. 

Eobin. I'll no' heed anything ye like to do. Bless ye, lassie, ye 
hae given me a happiness I never ken'd before — I've half a mind to 
gie ye two or three steps o' the Higiiland Fling this minute, to 
relieve mysel' of the joy that's swellin' in my breast. {dancing. 

Jean. 1 hope you may never have cause to repent of your joy. 

Eobin. Nae tear of that — it's new life ye hae given me. 

Jean. I shall be glad to see you happy, Eobin. 

Eobin. Then ye'll always be happy, Jennie, lass, for I'll always 
be happy. 

Jean, {starting and listening eagerly ) Hark ! Who is that calling 
me? 

Eobin. ^STaebody, lassie, that I hear. 

Jean. { dazed ) There ! Do you not hear ? 

Eobin. What? What, Jeannie ! 

Jean. Jeamie, calling me. 

Eobin. Ye're delirious, lassie — your brain is overcome wi' the 
heap of trouble. Come, nestle your head here, lass, on mj^ bosom. 

{draioing her upon his lap. 

Jean. Yes, yes ! O, woe is me ! O, woe is me ! 

Eobin. Grieve not, lassie — your troubles are at an end noo ! 

Jean. Yes, yes ! O, woe is me ! O, woe is me ! But yonder he 
is reaching out his hands for me to come. {pointing vaguehf. 

Eobin. You are crazed^ lass — keep quiet. { patting her. 



ft(>: AULD B0BI2^ GBAY, 

Adam, (appearing at the door) There they are, as loviii^^ as two 
doves. Lord bless ye, my bairn, and mak' this the first o' many 
liappy days. 

Girzie. (appearing at the back door) Dearie me! She's on with 
the new love very soon after being oft with the auld. 

Jea}(. (starti7ig up ) Jeamie! Jeamie! I come! (reaching out 
as if to embrace her lover, and fainting ) 

TxiBLEA U. — Stage dark, and Jeamie seen through the loall at back, 
at sea afloat upon a mast. 

END OF ACT SSCOXD. 



ACT in. 

SCENE FIBST.—The Broimiie's Bite. A bridge over a deep gulf 
in the background. The Fishicife^s cot exposed to the Irft foreground; 
hushes to the right. Door at the left of cottage, and practical door at 
lack. Wattie discovered on his knees before a smouldring fire. 

Enter, Jeamie, r. 

Jeam. Yonder is Girzie's cottage. 

Watiie. Phew ! PheAV ! Such a heap o' breath it takes to start a 
little blaze. (Jeamie opens the back door and stands looking in. Wat- 
iie stares at him ) My Lord ! Who's yon ? 

Jeam. Well, Wattie, what are yon staring at? Do yon not know 
me? Where's your mother? 

Wattie. (rushing to side door) Mither! Mither, come here ! 

Enter, Girzie, l. d. 

Girzie. ( not seeing Jeamie ) Ye daft idiot, what's wrong that ye 
call me that way ? 

Wattie. It's— it's him ! 

Girzie. Who's him ? 

Wattie. Him, come up from 'mong the fishes — an' ye said we'd 
never see him any more — an' it is just a ghost. 

Girzie. Who? 

Wattie. (pointing to Jeamie) Yon wraith* • 

Jeamie. How are ye, Girzie ? 

Girzie. Heaven keep an' save us all ! Is it ver own self Jeames 
Falcon? 

Jeam. Yes, my own self; who else v/ould it be? 

Girzie. Then ye 're not drooned ? 

Jeam. 1 think not, though I was near enough to it. 

Wattie. An' ye have not been biding with the fishes all this time? 

Jeam. Xo, Wattie, I have been living with folks like ourselves. 

Wattie. An' what made them tell thelie about ye, having Jeannie 
crying and sobbing so ? 

Jeam. Because they thought it true no doubt, and maybe wished 
it so. And tliat reminds me of what I came here to ask Girzie. 

Girzie. ( aside ) I'll not tell him as long as I can help it. ( aloud ) 
Xo, lad, ye'll ask no questions till ye hae had a bite to eat. ( to Wat- 
tie) Eun away an' bring in the taties an' lierrin', Wattie. 
( Wattie goes out and returns with supper) Sit ye down there Jeames 
Falcon, an' tell us how ye got home again. (gives chair , 



AULD JROBIN QBAY, 9i 

Jeam. Thank ye, Girzie. 

Girzie. Have ye seen anyone since ye came back? 
Jeam. I came around by Adam Lindsay's, but the liouse was 
shut up. 

Girzie. Aye ! An' when did ye come back ? 
Jeam. I landed at Ayr yesterday, and walked over. I have not 
been in PortlapiDoeh yet. 

Girzie. Then ye liae not heard ought of your friends? 
Jeam. Xot a word, and that's what brought me here? 

Girzie. Just that. But you have no' said a word aboot how ye 
came to be alive at all. Carrach an' the rest o' them, barrin' Hutch- 
ison, came home, and a' said ye were drooned. 

Wattie. A^'-e, tell us how ye were drooned. 

Girzie. How did ye escape after the explosion ? 

Jeam. Finding myself in the water I Hoated about on a mast for 
thu-ty hours, till picked up by a king's ship, on which, I was forced 
to take piissage for a year. Well, to" finish, after a year's cruise, I 
landed at Ayr yesterday, and here I am. ]Srow for your news. 

Girzie. Draw up your stool an' eat something, (he draws up 
stool ) Have no' ye heard aught o' what was going on here ? 

Jeam. Xot a word, I Avrote to Jeannie from Malta, but I did not 
even here if she got the letter ; but how is she ? 

Girzie. Take a bit o' bannock, man and make yerself at home. 

(reaching him the cakes, 

Wattie. An' did j^e not gang down among the fishes? 

Jeam. IS^o, Wattie, or you would not have seen me here to-day. 
Now, Girzie, you know what I am most anxious to hear — how is 
Jeannie, and where is she ? 

Girzie. She's well enough for that matter, an' she's at Cairnie- 
ford. 

Jeam.. At Cairnieford ! Has she gone into service ? 

Girzie. Aye, in a kind of a way. 

Jeam. Has anything happened* to Adam or his wife? 

Girzie. They're both livin' yet, aud at Cairnieford. Adam met 
wi' an accident a.n' broke his arm, but he's most weel again. Mrs. 
Lindsay's worse nor she was afore, an' is not thought to live long. 

Jeam. Poor Jeannie, she must have had a hard time of it. 

Girzie. Hartl^f^nough, when she did not know where to get bit or 
sup if it had not" eon for Robin Gray. 

Jeam. The Lord be praised that they had a friend able and 
Avilling to help them. Heaven prosper him for it, and he shall not 
lose anything by it if I live. I'll away to them at once. I cannot 
rest till I see them, and I'm almost as anxious to get a grip of 
Oairnie's hand as I am to see Jeannie and get her welcome home. 

Girzie. You should not gang up to-night — it'll be late, an' it's 
not just fair not to gie them warning o' your coming. 

Jeam. Why, they'll be all the more delighted at the surprise. 
. Girzie. I 'n'l not so sure. Ye dinna ken what changes take place 
after one's dead an' buried as ye have been, for a year. 

Jeam. What are you hinting at ? 

Girzie. Do ye mind what Itold ye before ye went awa' ? 
. Jeam. Yes ; you wanted me not to sail in the Colin. 

Girzie. An' I said if ye did, ye would never be guidman to 
Jeannie. Lindsay. I did no' expect my words to come true in the 
way they have, but true ye'll tind them. 
I Jeam." In God'jj^iiaine, wj.iiit is wrong? 



JaS A ULD B OBIN QBA T. 

Girzie, Well, I suppose ye might as well hear it from me as any 
other body, so I'll tell ye myself— Jeannie is married. 

Jeam. {staggering and holding his hand to his heart)- Married! 
Jeannie married ! To whom ? , , , 

airzie. Him who was her best friend when she thought ye were 
dead—Cairnieford himself. 

Jeam. What! A man old enough to be her father ! When did 
it happ«en ? 

Girzie. At the end o' the harvest. 

Jeam. So soon ! Would to heaven I liad been drowned rather 
than come back to learn this. She was not grieved v/hen I went 
tiway, and no doubt she was glad to hear that I could never come 
back, and was ready to believe it. 

Girzie. What was the lassie to do? It would not hae brought ye 
to life to let her fattier and mither starve, and herself pine awa' to 
the kirkyard, If there's anyone to blame, it's yerself for going awa' 
to foreign parts, an' not letting us know whether ye were living 
or dead. 

Jeam. Oh, Jeannie, woman! Little did I think ye would play 
me false ! (throws himself into a chair and moans. 

Wattie. What for is Jeamie cry in' mither? Is Jeamie drooned 
and gone to bide wi' ihe fishes? , 

Girzie. Hech, noo' ! He is sore taken up about it, and there's no 
saying what he might do. ( looking out ) Lord save us ! There slie 
is coming! I'll g.ing wi' Wattie out of the way, and leave them to 
theirsclves, poor things. Come, Wattie. ( exit unth Wattie, l. d. , 

Jeam. Oh, Jeannie, woman ! Jeannie, woman ! 

\ Enter, Jeannie, e. u. e. into the cot. 

Jean, {at the door) I called, Girzie, to see if you had a nice fat 
haddock to boil for the good man's supper? ( coming in, she sees 
Jeamie, who looks up) "Who's that? OhIOh-o-h! 
^ ( shrieks and falls upon tJte floor, 

\ Jeam. [partly lifting her] My Jeannie ! 
; Jean, [sitting partly up] Oh! AVhoareyou? 
. Jeam. Do you not know nic ? 

• Jean. Yes, yes, but do not touch me. . [shuddering. 

f Jeam. I have come back, Jeannie, to find that you shudder at my 
■touch. And yet it was you, who not very long since, clasped your 
arms aroujid me, and told me that you would bide my return faith- 
fully. Have you kept your word ? 

Jean. They told me you were dro^vned, and my heart was sore to 
think of it. But you made no sign that you were living, and every 
one spoKC as if there could be no doubt that you were dead. There 
was no one to whisper a word of hope, and what could I do but 
believe when the proof was so strong? 

Jeam. You could have ^Aaited a little for confirmation of the 
news. Oh, woman ! woman ! I Avould have waited a hundred years 
before I would have cast you so utterly from my breast, and taken 
another in my arms. 

Jean. And I would have Avaited forevever had I been alone. But 
they pressed me sore from all sides. I Avas sad, sad and heart bro- 
ken — I did not care what became of myself, but I thought it a sin to 
turn away from the duty before me, and I thought that'you, looking 
all me from the other world, would see what feelings moved me, and 
would say 'well done.' That was why I married, though my lieart 
was with you. {v^Uh emotion. 



AULD BOB IN GBAT. S3 

Jeam. Jeannie, Jeannie ! you are mine yet— you flbftU be, in spite 
of all the marriages on earth. What power has a minister's prayers 
to part our lives— to fill the years tliat are before us with Ungering 
misery? It shall have none. You are mine, Jeannie, my own, and 
no one else has a right to claim you. Kise up then, and come away 
from this place, and in another country we'll find a home and 
happiness. 

Jean, [spurning him] Away, man, away! [rising] That's not 
Jeames Falcon who has risen from the dead, for he would have 
pitied me, and tried to strengthen me for the cruel duty I must do. 
It's the evil one himself in niy poor lad's body, come to tempt me to 
i^iy shame. 

Jeam. Lord help me ! I believe I'm crazed. My brain has been 
in a whirl since I learned that you were married, and I scarcely know 
what I do, or say, or think. But I'm not the villain you might 
think me from what I liaye said; it was the bad spirit that came be- 
tween us, made me say the villainous thought— forgive me. 

( kneeling and taking both her hands. 

Jean. I do, but now, go awav. 

Jeam. I will. " (kissing her hands. 

Jean. ( drawinq them away ) Do not do that— it frightens me, and 
makes^me think 'of what you said. I cannot bear to think of thjU, 
because it would m.^ke the sorrow I have to bear all the sorer, if I 
had to think of j^ou as one who would do a wrong act. 

Jeam. No man shall ever say I wronged him. 

Jean. You are speaking like yourself now, and it comforts me to 
hear you. But we may think wrong to ourselves and others, and 
there's onlj^ one way^ we can ever hope to win jjeace of mind, and 
that is to part now and forever. 

Jeam. Yes, that is all we can do now. It is cowardly to sob, and 
weep like a child when the road lies before me, dreary though it be. 
I'll leave the country, and you can think of me as though I had been 
drowned, and had never come back to disturb your peace of mind 
with memories of days that were pleasant to us. 

Jean. It must be. All that I am suffering now, all the weary 
pain that is tugging at my heart strings at the thought of parting 
from you, tells iiie the stronger that we must meet on this earth no 
more. Oh, I loved vou, Jeamie, very dearly— I love you yet — Lord 
forgive me. But I am Robin Gray's wife, and I must be faithful to 
him who has been good and true to me. Help me Jeamie, and go 
away. 

Jeam. God keep you, Jeannie. I see now that I have not tlie 
worst to bear. With God's ^\ill, you shall never be troubled with 
the sight of me again. All that man can do to help you be a true 
wife, I'll do, for the sake of the love I bear you. 

Jean. Go, now, and heaven guide you to happiness, if there is any 
in this world. ( kissing him on the brow. 

Jeam. Farewell ! Farewell ! ( exit, Jeannie by side door. 

Jeamie is going out of the cottage, when he runs against Nicol who is 
entering across bridge at back of stage. 

Nicol. Great heaven ! It cannot be you? 

Jeam. Yes, it's me, unfortunately. 

Niool. And I have been mourning for you this twelve month — 
and you are not dead at all. 

Jeam. I am sorry you have wasted so much useful grief for a 
fcliild who is so ungrateful as to come to life again. 



■f^ AULD BOBIN GBAY. 

Nicol. Come to life again I Yes, it's just like that. How did it 
happen that you were saved ? 

Jeam. After drifting about on a mast for two days, I was piclied 
lip by a man-o'-war that carried me where I could not get back in a 
hurry. 

Nicol. Xow that ye are back I suppose ye have heard that your 
old sweetheart is married? 

.Team, Yes, I have seen her. 

Nicol. Have you so ? And what do you intend to do now ? 

.Team. Go away again. 

Nicol. {eagerly) "When? 

Jeam. As soon as I have performed a duty I owe you and others. 

Nicol. What may that be ? 

.Team. Did you lose much by^he Coiin's loss? 

Nicol. (uneasily) Not so much as 1 might have done — she was 
very well insured. 

Jeam. {eyeing Mm) Humph! Did Carrach lose anything by it ? 

Nicol. I couldn't say, exactly; he had a share of the cargo, and 
got his share of the insurance. On tlie other liand, he lost a heap o' 
lime, and the chance of making something bringing a cargo home. 

Jeam. {thoughtfully) That's queer. 

Nicol. (sharply) What's queer? 

Jeara. About Carrach ! Where is he? 

Nicol. He was at Greenock yesterday, and I'm expecting him 
here in a day or two. But what are ye driving at with these ques- 
tions ? 

Jeam. At a serious matter to you, a matter that has ruined my — 
but never mind. 1 shall stay here till Carrach comes back. 

Nicol. What for? 

.Team. To bring him to justice — and make him pay M'ith his life 
for the misery he has brought on me and Jeannie. 

Nicol. I do not quite understand you. But where are you going 
to bide ? 

Jeam. Not here — it's too near Cairnieford ; besides I do not wisli 
Carrach to see me. 

Nicol. It would not be best if you wish to arrest him — for what I 
cannot imagine. But as to being near Cairnieford, I cannot see why 
you should trouble j^ourself about a 'Avoman who was ready to leap 
at the lirst offer she got, as soon as you were out of sight. 

Jeam. Stop ! I'll let no man speak ill of lier in my presenco. 

Nicol. Just as you like. But as I was about to sjiy — it will n'->t 
rlo for you to stay at any of the inns, so you miglit go over to Askaig. 
There's nobody occupying the house, and youViil not be particular 
about furniture for so short a time. 

Jeam. I'll go at once. ( exit, r. 

Nicol. He means to bring Carrach up for setting iire to tlie brig. 
There will be a fine ado if it gets wind — but it must not. I'll have 
to get him out of the country as quick as possible, and wliilp h'*is 
in, keep him from getting friendly words with the agent or Robfii. 
Devil take him ! ^Vhy can't he mind his own business like other 
honest folks ! ( about to go, l. 

Enter, Bobin Gray, passing Nicol, L, 

Bobin, Sharp weather. 

Nicol. (turning) Ah, Cairnieford? Hold on a minute; I want 
to speak with you. 



A VLB BOBIN GBA Y. »5 

Bohin, What do ye wish to say ? 

Nicol, I have news for you that I'm afraid will not bo over 
welcome. (Unking anns tenth him. 

Bobin, (shaking him of) I would be surprised it it was, coming, 
from you. Well, out wi' it, let's know the worst, for I'm afraid o' 
nothing that you or any other man can bring against me. 

Nicol. I did not say I had aught to say against yon, but at tim,es 
the best of us must bow the head to things we cannot help. What I 
have to saj'^ will trouble you or I'm mistaken. 

Bobin, Then in the de'il's name tell it, an' not stand there 
licking your choffs over it. 

NicoL Well, then, Jeames Falcon was not drowned as we 
all thought. 

Bobin. (heartily) I'm glad to hear't, for the lad's sake. 

]ViCol. Yes, but he has come back here, and been up to Cairnie- 
ford and seen your guidwife, and the Lord knows what will happen. 

Bobin, (unsteadily) Happen I What can happen ? 

Nicol, There's no saying, but it's an awkward business for j'ou. 

Bobin, I canna' see that. 
m Nicol. Well, I hope you'll never need to see it ; but you may 
count on my helping you in any way I can. 

Bobin. Thank you ; I'm glad ye told me before I got home, as it 
will help me to prepare mysel'. But the sooner I'm there the bet- 
ter, now. Good night. 

Nicol. (aside) The spark is touched to set the old fool's heart in 
a tiame of jealousy. I must manage to have him catch Jeames 
Falcon and his wife together in a. sus'picious way, then tliere'll be an 
exjDlosion, sure. I'll go and get Carrach to help me. (exity r. 

Bobin, Aj^e, the sooner I'm home the better. Poor Jeannie, 
Mife, I fear I hae wronged ye wi' my doubts. Jeamie's come home, 
but what o' that? We'll try to mak' the poor lad welcome, an' 
liomfort him all we can. It's no' his fault, nor ours either, that 
things hae turned out as they have, so we'll just be content 
a*s we are. Ah, here comes Jeannie now, and goodness, how pale 
she is. 

Enter, Jeannie from the cottage, 

Bobin, Well met, guidwife, an' what are ye doing here this wild 
night ■? 

Jean, I was here at Girzle's to get a fresh haddock for your 
supper, guidman. 

Bobin, I suppose there's been nobody at home inquiring for me 
the day. 

Jean. No one. 

Bobin, You're no' looking so weel as yoti were when you went- 
away this mornin' ? 

Jean. I have not been very well all day. 

Bobin. What has been the matter wi' ye? 
, Jean, jSTothing particular. Do not trouble yourself about it— I'll 
be well again to-morro^v. 

Bobin, Ye must get well, guidwife — (laying his hand softly on her 
head) — I couldna live if I M'as"to lose ye. 

Jean, How should you lose m« ? I am not like to die. 

Bobin, Ko, ye' 11 see me home yet, I hoi^e an' expect, but Jean- 
nie, lass, I am an old doitard body 

Jean, You're my guidina.n, and I'm not going to have him mis- 
called even by himself. 



SO^. AVLD BOBiy GRAY".. 

liohin. Aye, weel, guidwife, we'll let that fly stick to the wall. 
But at times I gvt notions o' things that might hnj^pen, but never 
will happen, then 1 like to hear ye say over an' over again, that ye" 
are happy, an' that I do all ye like rae to do to mak' ye so. 

Jean. You hrive done all that a kind, good heart could do, to 
make me and mine happy, and while I live I'll try to ])rove toyoit 
ihat I'm grateful, and that I gave you all my heart as far as I have 
it to give. 

Itobin. An' you're no' sorry that ye married me? 

Jean. No, Robin, I'm not sorry ; if you be happy I never will be 
sorry. 

Bohin. It mak's me glad to hear ye say that. It would be the 
darkest day o' my life when I should hear ye say ye wished ye had 
never been married. 

Jean. You shall never hear me say that. 

Bohin. Thank ye, lass. Folks say that marriage cools love, but 
that's no' true with us, for every day mak's ye the more precious to 
me. 

Jean. Well, I'll away home and get your supper ready. 

[e.cit across bridge, f 

Bohin. Bless her! How cruel o' me to doubt her; yet what's the 
matter wi' her — she looks so woesome like. And siie denied that 
any one had been at the house ! Yonder comes her father — I'll 
question him and see if it be true Jeamie's home. 

Enter, Adam, r. 

Adam. Well met, Eobin. 

Bohin. Well met, father-in-law. Hae ye seen the laird lately? 

Adam. I just passed him on the road. 

Bohin. Did he speak ? 

Adam. Aye. He said good day, an' asked how ye w^e doing, 
an' said he was going to Askaig. 

Bohin. He didna' mention Jeames Falcon ? 

Adam. No. 

Bohin. { moving l.) Good night. 

Adam. Good night. ' {exit across bridge. 

Bohin. Can it be possible that the whole story is a lie o' the 
laird's, and Jeames Falcon hasna' returned? I'll go in and see 
what Girlie knows about it. ( knocks and enters the cottage. 

Enter Girzie from the side door. 

Girzie. Ah, is it yerseP, Caimieford? (offering a chair. 

Bohin. Thank ye, Girzie, but I just called to ask ye if it's true 
that Jeames Falcon has got back ? 

Girzie. Aye, it's true. 

Bohin. Have ye seen the lad ? 

Girzie. I saw him when he first came back. 

Bohin. I wonder he does not come to our house — we'd be glad tp 
see him. : 

Girzie. So ye might be. It's easy for him that wins to forgive, 
but it's not so easy for him who loses. 

Bohin. True enough, Girzie ; but I think if I was to hae a quiet 
chat wi' him, he might be persuaded to bear no ill will any way. 
Do ye Know where he is? 



ATJLD BOBIN GBAT, S7 

Girxie, Somewhere about — I conldna' say exactly where. 

Bobin. Well, IMl gang aiigl see if I can find him. (' exit over hridjjc, 
' the stage grows (jradacuh/ dark, night coniing on. and a storm rist^s 

Girzie. The auld tish is beginning to smell the frving-p:in ! Well, 
it's none o' my attair, an' I'll awa' to bed. I wonder where that 
fool, VYattie is ! ( exit at side door. 

Enter, Jeamie and Wattle, loet, r. 

Jeani, You foolish fellow to cross the ford when the water is so 
high I See wh;it a state you're in. 

Wattle, AV'et to the skin, as ye must hae been that time ye most 
got drooned. But I dinna care, I'm going to follow ye, for I wane 
to see the big king's ships with guns. 

Jeam, You had better chnnge your clothes, or you will catch 
your death of cold, and go where the worms will ent you. 

JVottie, I dinna want to gang there, j^et I hae no other clothes 'to 
pnton. 

Jeam. Well, come wiikh me, and I'll give you these I have on, 
since I am going to put on my other suit to go away in. 

Wattle. Go aA\a' ! 

Jeam. Yes, since I promised Jeannie I would. 

Wattie. An' tak' me too? 

■Jeam, Well, come along, {fhey go into cottage and exit 2d, e. 

Enter, Carrach, r. 

Car. There "*s the son o' a gun — py tarn ! Xext time I was rind 
])im in my power he was no got so easily off. The laird says he 
threatens to pring me up for setting fire to the brig, but I was see if 
he will do it — py tarn I I sent Donald to pring Mrs. Gray hert^ in 
the l.'iird'st gig, as he was order me. What he was mean to do, I 
dinna know or cnre, as long ;is he comes down with the silver. Yon- 
der I hear'the gig comin' now. I'll take shelter, {hides behind bushes 

Enter, Donald and Jeannie with bundle, across bridge, 

Jean, Where is my husband who is hurt and sent for me? 

Donald, (opening the cottage do(tr) Is he not in here? I do not 
understand I Go in and sit down, and don't stir while I go and find 
hijn. 

Jean, Do so, for I must get to care for my poor Robin in his pain. 
( she sits down, and Donald goes out of cottage, and exit r. 

Enter, Jeamie, and Wattie with change of clothes, l, 2 e. 

Jeam, There's your mother — go to her. 
Jean, (rising) Jeamie? 
Jeam, Jeannie ! 

Jean. You here? Tell me, where is my husbandi? 
Jeo.nu Your husband, lass I How do I know ? 
Jean. Is he not here hurt ? What, is it all a trick ? 
Jeam. What? 

Jean. Oh, Jeamie, Jeamie ! I did not think you would resort to 
Buch means to gain your end. 

Jeam, Gain my end! What do you mean? 

Enter, Bobin across bridge — he looks in the window. 



^^ AULD EOBIN GBAY. 

BoUn. Tlie laird said I'd find them here together. 

Jean. To try and take me from my husband. 

Jeam. "Woman, are j^ou crazy? iBobhi opens the door. 

Jean. Who's that'?"^ {nishi'ng to JRobin) Kobin ! Robin! I am 
glad you have come ! 

Bohin. (tlivowuKj her off) Awa' woman! Dinna come near 
me, lest I fail to keep my hands still and do you some hurt. 

Jean. Why would you seek to hurt me? Have you not come to 
take me home ? 

Bohin. Home! I h:ic no home now, an' the Lord knows where 
ye will find one. How can. there be a home where there is a false 
wife? O, woman, woman! the hoose is black wi' your shame, an' 
I'm a broken-down auld man who can never lift his head again. 

Jean. My shame I 

Bohin. Aye, your shame. What! would ye brazen it out in spite 
o' the evidence o' my own eyes? My God ! can one so guilty be so 
bold ? Go hide your head in shame^ and never look at me again, lest 
I strike you dead at my feet. 

Jean. " {facing him bohlU/) Do it now,' if I deserve it. I have no 
cause for shame, and I will not hide my head though all the world 
Avas looking at me. 

Bohin. Ye hae no cause for shame? (griping her arm and bending 
over her) Was it not you who swore to be a true wife to me? 

Jean, {firrnhj ) Yes, and so I have been. 

Bohin. An' hae ye not hidden from me that this man had come 
home — that ye saw him? An' told me lies about yersd', an' hae ye 
not this nicht traveled through wind an' rain that ye might run awa' 
wi' him? Win ye dare to say there is no cause for shanie? 

Jean. I did not tell you I had seen him because I did not wish to 
vex you, but I meant to tell you of it. I came here to-night seeking 
you, not him. • 

Bohin. Hae done, woman ! I came only to satisfy mysel' that ye 
were here, an' the fause thing ye are, but not to stay an' mid to your 
sin by wringing new fausehoods frae ye. I hae seen, an' I am sat- 
isfied. Tak' the road ye hae chosen, an' may ye know the misery ye 
hae given me. God forgive ye Jeannie, for it! 

Jean. And God forgive you, Robin Gray, for the wrong you do 
me. 
• Bobin. Peace, woman! Dinna let me hear ye bias] )h(>me. 

Jean. In His name I ask you to listen to me. OJi, Robin, I have 
been a true wife to you in thought and deed, though my lieart 
was sorely tried. Day and night I have striven to make you happy, 
and pmyed for strength to be all that a wife should be to you ; and 
now, O, man ! will you cast me oft" in your blind fury without heal- 
ing me, and leave me with a broken heart, because you are wild with 
jealousy? I wish you had never been goodman to me, or that I had 
been drowned comuig here, rather than have heard your cruel, false 
words. 

Bobin. An' I would rather hae found ye dead air cold in the 
stream than here wi' him. 

j:ean. 'Twas no fiuilt of mine that I was here — will yon not 
believe me? 

Bobin, Ko, after what I hae seen I am done wi' ye forever.. 

(throwiny her off and going, 

Jeam. (stoj^ping him) But you are not done with me, Cairnieford. 



AULD BOBI]^ GRAY, ^9 

' BxAnn. Out of the way, Jeames Falcon, or I caniia answer for 
what may happen. 

Jeam. I can, however. 

Bobin. Stand awa' frae the floor, or your blood will bdf on my 
liands. I leave tlie woman to ye — tak' her. She's worthy o' such 
jui honest o-entlenian. 

, Jeam. You are a mad fool. By heaven, I would give my life if 
she would let me take her at your word, and prove to her 

liobiii, Daum ye, if ye will have it, blame yerseP. 

(Luocks him down and kneels on him. 

Enter, Girzie, running, l, 

Girzk. Lord help us ! (pulling Bohinloff, 

Jean, {before Jeaniie ) Robin, would you? 

PiObin. Keep him awa' or I'll be the death o' him ! ( about to go. 
Jean, {holding on to Bobin) I will go with yoii— in storm or 
fehine I will go \\\t\\ you, 

Bobin. {loosening her hold ) Awa' ! Ye hae saved him, go to him. 
Jean, And I have, saved you from the gallows may be, 
Bobin. Awa' I Keep liim out o' my sight ! Ye hae saved him — 
ye hae ruined me. Heaven keep j^e— oh, deevil burn ye forever ! 

( goes out of the cottage, and exit, l. 
. Jmm. ( ahoiit to follow) Stop, you coward ! 

Girzie, {stopping him) Let him ^ang, or there'll be murder 
at ween ye, 
Je<im. Let go, T tell you. 

Jean. Oh, Kobin ! Robin ! ( falls at the door in a faint, 

Jeam, ( lifting her) Oh, the crazy, blind idiot ! Let him go, and 
may the black' heart of him who' could think the thought he has 
8]3oken of her, make a hell to him. I, for one, will never attempt to . 
give him peace, by sho^^ing him how pure sneis. Get me some water. 
Wattie. I'll bring ye some. {does so. 

Jeam, {putting the cup to her lips ) Are you better now, Jeannie? 
Jean, (ri^^'u^)* Where's Robin? 

Jeam. Do liot distress yourself for a man who could cast you oft 
so lightly, 

Jean, {to Girzie) Where is he? 

Girzie. Cairnieford? He went awa' two or three minutes ago 
when ye fell, 
Jean, {about to go) I will go too. 

Girzie, {interfering) Mercy on us! Where are ye goin' ? 
Jean, After my husband. 

Girzie. In this storm, wi' the night as dark as Egypt, an' the 
rain pourin' ? 

Jean, I must, or you must bring him back to me. I'll not stay 
here without him. 

Girzie. Bring him back ! Impossible ! 

Jean, Let me go away. He was angry, and may be he will be 
drowned. 

Girzie. Deed, I hope not. If ye'll be quiet, I'll gang an' look 
'round for him. Will ye bide till I come back ? {goin^ to door, 

Jean, {following) Xo, I'll go with you. 

Je^m, { coming forward) You shall not quit this house tdl 
morning if I have strength to keep you here. You shall not risk 
your life to follow a mad fool like him. 



so • A VLB ROBIN GRA Y. 

' Jean. You are speaking of my husband, and if you have half the 
respect for me you pretend to have, you will not speak ill of him 
behind his back in my presence. 

Jeam. I'll not speak of him at all, if you Avill try to calm your- 
self and remain, I'll show you that the respect I bear you is no 
pretense, for scorn him as I do, I'll go myself and seek him. 

Girzie. Ye must not do that. I am acquainted vvi' the bearings o' 
the place, an' if he'll come at all, he'll come for me. So I'll go auV 
gie a search. (r/'>e*' "iit and exit L. I 

Jean. ( aho7it to follovj ) No, do not go— or let me go with you. ' 

Jeam. ( holding'her hack) Woman, bide you here. 

Jean. AVliy are you holding me here, when my husband's life 
may be hangs in a balance? Have you not wrought me enough ill 
in bringing me here to make a good, kind man scorn me? \Voukl 
you force ine to remain in the same house all night Avith you, that 
there might be no chance left me of clearing myself of the sliame 
you have brought on me? 

Jeam. I had no hand in bringing you here, Jeannie — I swear it 
before Heaven. What gain would it be to me to shame you ? 

Jean. I see it now. You thought to shame me so that I worild 
be glad to go away Avith you to hide myself from the scorn of the 
world. 

Jeam. Do not speak any more. I am as blameless of the a\ icked 
thoughts as the babe unborn. 

Jean. Then why did you stay here a single hour after you prom- 
ised me you would "go away— that we should not meet again? 

Jeam. I came heVe to bring Wattie home. 

Jean. But why did you noi go away at once? 

Jeam. Because I had an act of justice to you, to myself, and 
others to perform. I waited for Iv.ai Carrach to arrive. I blame 
him for all the misfortune that has befallen us, and Avas determined 
he should never Avrong another, but that for the ruin he had Avrought 
me, he should SAving upon the gallows. 

Jean. You were^vrong to stay for anythinu;. 

Jeam. I knoAV tiiat now, but 1 Avill give up all hope of justice, and 
go away. You Avere just now afraid to remain because I Avould be 
with you— that fear need not trouble you any longer, I Avill go. 

{turns aside, ivacpinr/. 

Jean. O, Avoe is me I O, woe is me ! ( weeping. 

Jeam, { wiping his eyes) Pshaw ! I'm like a child. Enough, you 
shall rjever have a chance to blame me for lingering, storm or no 
Ptorm. I leave you now, and so help me heaven, you shall never 
look on me in life again unless you beg me yourself to come to you. 

Jean. I have tried you sorely, Jeamie, but I Avas distracted, and 
did not knoAv Avhat I Avas saying. Will you forgive me those Avords 
1 spoke just no\V? 

Jeam. Yes, freely. 

Jean. I Avas Avrong to blame j^ou, Avrong to fear anything that 
false tongues might say against us — I have no fear of them noAV. 
biay here, then, till daylight. 

Jeam. No, Jeannie. Do not try to persuade me, for I cannot 
yield. I am going noAV, perhaps to my death — shake hands, there 
can be no harm in that. (offering hand. 

Jean. (taking it) I think it is yon who are unreasonable now. 
(holding his hand) Lord pity and help me. AYhy is all put upon 
me? Do not make me ausAverable for two lives. 



-AVLB nOBIK GRAY. ^^, ^i^ 

Jcam. The Lord will pity you, and help you, and if I go away 
bow, that will be the best proof" to Robin Gray of how much he has 
wronged us both. 

Jean, {still holding his hand) Do not go till morning. It will be 
safe then. Do you not hear how the storm is raging? 
Jeam. Yet you would have gone out into it a few minutes ago. 
Jean, But that was myself that would have been in danger, not you. 
' Jeam, The greater the danger, the stronger is the proof that I 
love you more" than myself — "too much to give the tongue of scandal 
the chance of stinging you with its venom, {kissing her hand ) 
Good bye, my poor "lass — take courage, for the truth will come up- 
permost in spite of everything. Before merning I'll be miles away 
from here, if I am living. ( exit out of cottage, and ofL. 

Wattle, {startinq up) Hey ! Jeamie Falcon ! Bide a minute till 
I get my hat, and I'll go wi' ye. {geM hat and follows across bridge. 
Jean. He was right — for his own sake and mine, to go away at 
^nce in spite of tempest and darkness. And why should t stay here? 
^There's nobody to hinder me now, and it is right I should go to my 
home though I die on the way. Lord forgive me the thouglit, but I 
feel that I would rather die and g3t avvay from this weary sorrow 
that is hard, hard to bear. 
She opens the door and looks ant, B i this time, Wattle, after groping 
about, reaches the bridge, and Carrach coming tip behind him, 
grasps him — they then lorestle, and just as there is a flash of light- 
ning, Crrrach throws Wattle over the crag, he giving a yell, and 
Jeaunie witnessing the deed in the flash. Tableau and 

END OF ACT THIRD. 



ACT lY. 

SCE^''E FIEST,— -Public parlor in the Port Imu Main door at 
Mck in c, with window r., door and window l., doorR. Table, chairs 
and other furniture about the roonu JSandy^ David, and others discov^ 
ered talking, 

Sandy, I doubt not but that there's been a fine squabble between 
them. 

David. Between who ? 

San, Between the mistress and her goodman. Cairnieford went 
off last night after her in such a fury as I never saw him in before — 
and did you not notice the face of the mistress ? 

D:w. Yes, she looked scared like. 

San, Take my word for it, tliere's been a fine squabble, and I 
don't think we've got to the end of it yet. 

Dav, I can't surmise what they would quarrel about— can you ! 

San, The word has been out since yesterday that Jeames Falcon 
had come home, and was hanging around clean crazy at finding 
Jeannie married to Cairnieford. 

Dav, It's true enough that Jeamie come home, for I stivr him 
nivself and spoke to him, but he was so ugly like, I did not stop to 
talk. Yonder Mrs. Gray comes back— let's go back, {all exit, l. 



S^ AVLD BOBIY aB4Y. 

Enter, Adam, Jeanme and Qirzie, K* 

Jean. "VVoll, futhor, what did you find ont? 

Adam. Xothliig whatcvei" is Iviiowii at Clasiigini o' Jeames Fal- 
con, or his whereabout. 

Girzie. What'll I do to find Wattie? 

Jean, You'll liave to find Jeamie. He's the only one tliat can 
tell you wiiere Wattie is, and no doubt they are togetlmr. 

Girzie. Findhhn! Aye, though I should travel from land' 3 
end to land's end I must find him. " But he could na' be so thought- 
less as to let him go wi' him. He's way be sent him home afore 
now. I must haste after him, wherever he is. {ej:it, c 

Adam. V^here's Monduli? 
. Jean. Gone to bring Robin. What I wa" ^oing to tell you, 
'father, I'll tell you now in his presence, and i look to you to. make 
•him hear me. ^ 

Adam. No fear o' that— he's no' an unreasonable man. 

Jean. You do not Know the state he's in, father, or what he la 
thinking. 

Adam.. No, I canna' mali' out what the quarrel is about, an' it 
clean bamboozles me. 

Jean. He thinks — {loith faUcrimj voice ) — he thinks I was going to 
run away with Jeamie Falcon. 

Adam. What would yr do that for? Ye never would disgrace 
them who had been true an' kind to ye, even in your thought. 

Jean. Xever, father, never. 

Adam.. I couldna' think yc would, Jeannie, an' I wonder that 
Robin could so far forget liimsel' as to doubt ye. But what was the 
cause o' it? 

Jean. You shall hear it all in his presence. Yonder they come, 
I'll stand aside for a while. {stands aside 

Enter Eohin and Jlondujf, at c, 

, Tvohin, I'didna' expect to come here, Adam, but MondufTsaid ye 
would speak wi' me, an' may be it is a:S well I have come. 

Monduff. I scarcely expected to bring ye here an hour ago. 
Man, you gave us all a scare. 

Adam. How Avas that ? 

Man. His horse was found dead in the stream, an' we thought to 
find hun in the same place. 

liobin. Poor brute I I might ha' been wi' liiin. But sit down, 
—{they sit. To- Adam) — Yc wanted to speak wi' me? 

Adam. Aye. Ye had a quarrel wi' your guidwife I hear. I 
thought ye was a man o' too much .sense to mak' an ado like this. 

Rohin. I'm glad ye tliougiit that, Adam, because ye'll be readier 
to believe that^I'm no' like to mak' such a stir without good reason 
for it. 

Adam. AVhen I know j'our reason, I'll be the better able to gic yc 
my opinion. 

Eobin. I see that ye think me in the wrong. Would to heavei.. 
that I had been so, but there's no vise wishing for harvest iii De- 
cember. 

Adam. Well. 

liobin. What I Wanted to tell ye Adam, v/as that I'm goin' awa' 



AULD BOBIK GRAY, ^ ^ S9 

;the morn. I dinna where to, or when I'll come back, maybe never. 
While I'm awa' I want you to take care o' the farm an' keep thino:s 
incrder, so that if she should ever come bacK, she may find a home 
an' friends ready to receive her. 

Adam. Who is it ye're talking about? 
I Bobin, My wi — your daughter. 

I Adam. What about her coming home? She's come home, 
'' Bobin. Come home! When? 

AdAim. As soon as ever she could get across the stream. What 
else would she do, or where else would she go? 
. Bobin. Oh, aye ! I understand ! She's been frightened by what 
I said last night, and has come home instead o' goiu' wi' him. But 
that doesna' mak' her the less guilty. 

Adam. Guilty o' what ? 

Bobin. Guilty o' deceivin' me— guilty o' deceivin' the man she 
had sworn to abide by till death, by goin' awa' wi' Jeames Falcon. ; 

Adam. Ye are speakin' o' my daughter, sir, an^ ye are speakin' 
lies. J'eannie Lindsay was never guilty o' the shame ye charge her 
wi', even in her thoughts. 

Bobin. Are ye sure o' that? Then will ye tell me why she hid 
from me that she had seen Falcon ; hid it from ye, too, unless ye're 
more a hypocrite than I thought. Will ye tell me what for Falcon, 
should lurk an' keep out o' the way o' me who's aye been his friend? 
I Will ye tell me why she met him at Brownie's Bite where I saw 
them together wi' my own eyes ? 

Adam, {brings Jeannie forward) Here's my daughter — she'll an- 
swer for hersel'. 

Bobin, (going ) Let me go, then. 

Mon. ( detaining him) Hoots, man ! Be sensible and hear what 
she has to say. 

Bobin. I told her never to come near me again, but that there 
may be no blame on me, I'll listen to what she has to say. 

Jean. You blame me because I did not tell you I had seen Jeamie . 
I did not do so because I wished to wait until I could speak of him 
without giving you the pain of thinking I cared more for him than a 
wife should. /. 

Bobin. Ye hear that? She owns herself that she could not speak 
o' him as the wife of another man should. 

Jea7i. You knew when I married you, that I loved him, and that 
I would never have been your wife if I had not believed him dead. 
I did not mean to remind you of this, but you have forced it from me. 

Bobin. Say what you will — I can bear it. 

Jean. If you had said a word about him, I would have told you 
everj- thing, but you did not although you knew he was at home. 
I did not speak, for that day him and me parted never to meet again 
in this world as we thought. 

Bobin. An' no doubt ye had no expectations o' seeing him at 
Brownie's Bite when ye went there last night, tjiking your clothes 
wi' ye, as if yc didna' mean to come home again. 

Jean. I did not think of him at all. A man came to the house 
and said you was hurt, having had a quarrel with Jeames Falcon, 
And for rue to go at once and'bring some clothes lest I should not be 
able to get home that night. I went with him in a gig, never doubt- 
ing his word, my mind so much taken up with you. , 



'S4 AULD BQBiy GBAY. 

liohin. Who W.I!? the man ? 

Jean. I did not know him. 

Bobin. Humph I An' do 3'c thhik a man in his senses is to be- 
lieve that story V 

Jean. Yon woild believe me if yon were in yonr senses, Robi'i 
Gray ; bnt yon are possessed by some evil spirit that makes every- 
thing yon hear sound false as your own suspicions are. Lord lielp 
yon, man — I almost forg-et iny own i^:iin and pity yon. 

JRobin. Thank ye. Was that all ye had to tell us? 

Jean. No. IVhen we got to Brov/nie's Bite, nobody was in tliQ 
house. I was surprised, and the man said he could not understand 
it, but if I would sit down he ^\'ouId go and hud you. He went, but 
did not return. But this I noticed— the gig was Clrishgirn's, and no 
doubt the laird cnn tell you wiio the man was who had'his gig. 

Ilobin. Oh, I can tell without his help — it was just a man sent by 
Jenmes Falcon. 

Jean. I will not believe it. He would not be guilty of so base a 
trick on me. 1 blamed him for it when I was driven Vild by your 
abuse, but I am sorry for it now. 

Jlobin. Humph ! Are ye ? 

Adam. Go on, Jeannie. 

Jean. I waited about live minutes, when Jeamie Falcon came in 
with Wattie Todd. He was as ranch put out at sight of me as I was 
of him. Then you came, and know what happened after, except 
that Jeamie went away just after yourself, saying that we would 
never see him again. 1 then went to the door and saw — {eyeing Bobia 

Adam. WhatfV 

Jean. Something that frightened me, and I swooned and fell. I 
did not come to myself till this morning, when as soon as I could, I 
came home. That is all I have to tell. ' 

Adam. An' every word ye have spoken I believe to be true in the 
sight o' heaven. 

Ilobin. And I believe it to be as false as hell. 

Adam. What. ( lifting his hand to strike him) 

Jean, {preventing him) Father! Father !^V^ 

Adam. Ye're not the man I took ye to be,^^t's a doom's black 
day for me that I must feel raysel' i3eholding^^ I am to the man 
who could speak as ye have done o' my daughter. By the Lord, if I 
liad the use o' my arm as once I had, I would have broken every 
bone iiyour body for half as much. 

Jean. Hush, father. Doji't speak so — it can do no good, and you 
have more need to pity tlian be angry with him, for he'll see the day 
iiell rue what he has said— God pity him. 

J/o??. I never like to meddle between man and wife, but Carnie- 
ford I must say I think ye are wrong. 

liobin. God forgive "^me, woman, if I have wronged ye. Oh, 
Jeannie, I would be proud to have the tongue that has spoken your 
h^hame burnt out o' my mouth if I could only feel that ye have 
spoken the truth. 

Jean. What have I ever done that you can only believe I am 
telling lies? 

liobin. Ye hid fi-ora me that he had come back, an' ye have told 
me — though yesterdav ye said ye would never — that ye wished ye 
had never been ray wife ? * 

Jean. And you\lrove me to it with your cruel words. You have 



AULI) nOBIN GRAY, SS 

snid eiiongh this day to almost make mo wish I had gone away with 
Jcamie Falcon last night. 

llohin. Ye hear her Monduff? Ye heai her Adam? 

Jean, {with a proud look ) 1 did not mean to say any more to you. 
A man who is ready to snap at any word that could cast shame on 
his wife, is not the one to do her justice, 

Jiohin. 1 have tried to do my duty hy ye 

Jean. And I have never tailed in mine. But it ends all here — the 
last word 1 will ever sp^^ak to defend myself is spoken. 

Eobin. As ye think best. I'll arrange with Carnegie the lawyer, 
fco that the woman who bears my name shall never want. 

Jean, I will have nothing from you as long as I can work for 
myself. We need not stay here any longer, father — all has been 
eaid that need be. 

Adam. There's just a word, and thnt is, to tell you Cairnieford 
that my arm is nearly well, an' wi' heavens help I'll work night an* 
day to pay ye back every penny we owe ye. 

Mon. iloot ! Toot ! This is not the way to part. Come, Cairnie- 
ford, just say ye have been wrong, an' you goodwife, just give him 
your hand. 

Jean. No, [ can never give my hand again till I have proof that 
his mind is as free from doubt as the day we were marrieiJ. 

Adam. She shall never gie him her han<i again wi' my will, 
though he should get down on his knees an' beg iier to forgie him. 

Jean. 1 cannot go away without telling you that I no\ ^r knew 
how much I cared for you till now, when we are parting, may bo 
never to see each other, or speak a kind word again. Bntit must bo 
fao; for your sake and mine, too, wx will be better apart. 

( exit with Adam, c. d. 

Man, Well, it beats all, that two folks as fond of each other as can 
be, will make their lives miserable, just because one of them has not 
the courage to say 'forget and forgive.' I'll call her back. 

Jtohin. No, it will do no good — better let her go. 

Mon. But this will never do — you must come to a right under- 
standing. 
, Bohiru I see no way o' bringing it about. 

Mon. Well, you come home with me to-night, an' after you liave^ 
had a good sleep your head will be clearer, and may be you'll be 
able to sec then. 

JRobin, Very weel; I'll follow ye soon, hut I'm going to speak to 
Clashgirn first, who I see is comin'. ( exit Mondnff, c. d.) If this 
be one o' Nicol McWhapple's tricks to fool me, by the Lord above, 
it'll be the dearest bit o' knavery he ever played. 

Enter, JSficol McWhapple with bottle and glasses, r. 

Nicol. (sitting at table) Hallo! Is that you, Cairnieford ? Come 
and have a dram. (pouring out a glass 

Bobin. jSTo, thank ye. I'm sorry to disturb ye, hufc ye have it in 
your poAver to serve me. 
,' Nicol. Irt what way, Cairnieford ? 

Bobin. By answering a few questions. When did you leave 
Jeanics Falcon last ? 

Kicol. Od! It's extraordinar ! Every body must think I keep 
him tied to niv coat tail, for it's always to me they come asking after 
him. " _ J 



,?e AULB B OBIN GB A Y, 

BoUn. When did ye see him last, I was asking? 

Nicol. (studi/ing)- Com! Let me see I Hoot I yes, I mind — It 
was on yesterday afternoon. 

Bohln. Then It was you who sent the gig to Cairniefo.rd last night 
to tal'ie my giiidwife to Brownie's Bite? 

Nicol. Ill the name of gooihiess, what should I do that for? 

Bohin. Ye need na' try to hide it from me. An' it was ye who 
it^ent for her wi' the lieing message tiiat ine an' Falcon had been 
«ii\arreling, an' that I had got hurt. Curse ye, if ye don't confess 
the whole truth before I leave this room, ye'il sup sorrow wi' a big 
ftpoon ere I'm done wi' ye. {threatening him 

NicoU I didn't intend to say a word, but since ye put me to it ia 
self defense, it is necessary that I should speak. 

Bohin. Out wi' it, then. 

NiGol, I'll begin by telling you that I have heard all that happen- 
ed at Brownie's Bite yestere'en from Girzie Todd, and my opinion ia 
that Jeames Falcon, who is do doubt mnking his way out of the 
country, is a young villain. As for your wife 

Bohin. Weel, wliat about her? 

Nicol. I'll not say what about her. 

Bor)in. {clutchinij him hy the throat) Say an ill ^vord o' her an' 
rii throttle je, by heaven. ' 

Nicol. I wouldn't stand this treatment, only I know in what dis- 
tress of mind you are in, and pity you. I 

Bohin. Go on, will ye! Curse ye I 

Nicol. Well, Jeames Falcon got the loan of the gig last night, for 
what purpose I did not know, ot he'd never had it. JVly opinion now- 
is, that whether your goodwife was a party to the arrangement or 
not — and I'll not pretend to say — he was meaning to take her away 
with him, when you came upon them and frightened one or both of 
them, so they did not cany out their intention. . , 

Bohin. That is all I wish to know. Good day. (exitj c. i). 

Nicol. Curse it and burn it. ( raising the glass \ 

Enter, Carrachf R, } 

Carrach. (snatching the glass) Oich, no ! She would shust as 
^oon trlnk it. i 

Nicol. You again ! What do you want now ? I 

Car. She'll look in, and she was see there was nopody but yer- 
sel', and she was be dry. 

Nicol. Well, drink then, I'll not stint you, for it's my opinion 
you'll not drink many more glasses unless old Nick deals in his 
own liquor. 

Car. What'llyou do then? 

Nicol. Me? Nothing. 

Car.- What'll you give if I was go? 

Nicoi. There's no^^use saying what I might do, seeing you are 
bound to stay unless I do what I cannot. j 

Car. Say jou.v spoke, and then we'll know. 

Nicol. Well, I'll give you the schooner, Bince you*have taken 

';ch a notion for her, and a hundred pounds beside, if you'll sign 

I his paper and go away. {showing a paper , 

Car. The hundred in gold? 

Nicol. If you like. 

Car. (looking at the paper) What's In the paper? 

Nicol. Just au ackno\^dedgement of two or three things that 



AVLD B OBIK GBA Y. 57 

w,ould give me the power to hand you over to the sheriff's officers 
v^iould you ever set foot in this land again. 

Cai\ When'il she get the money ? 

Nicol, The day after to-morrow. 

Car. Very goot; pring the money and the paper to the schooner 
then, and I was make my cross on the paper like a man. And may 
she be droont in whiskey if you'll ever have a chance to use it 
against Ivan Carrach — pe-tam. {exit, u. 

Enter, Monduff c. J>., followed by Sandy^ David and others, hearing a 

body. 

Sandy, It's a bad job ! 

David. Aye, it's a bad job ! 

Mon. It is sad to think that after passing safely through the per- 
ils of tire, tempest and sea, the poor fellow should have come home 
to perish in this miserable manner. 

Sandy. You'd better send one of the lads for fiscal Smart — he'll 
know what to do. ( exit David, c. j>.) Another had better go over 
1-0 Clashgirn and tell the hard. 

Mon. "There's the lah'd yonder. (pointing to him 

Nicol. ( rising ) What's that you have there? 

Sandy. It's Jeamie Falcon, and oh, what a sight! 

Xicol, (staggering) Heavens above ! 

Mon. (offering his arm) Take my arm, laird, it's a sore sight ye 
have to look on, but we must bow to His will. 

Nicol. Thank you, Mr. Monduft", I can Avalk alone, (shivering and 
leaning heavily on his staff) It was the shock of the news that upset 
me, hut you know I have never murmured at the will of Providence 
— ^I liave'always humbly bowed before it, and I do that now. 

Sandy. Will jrou look at the corpse, laird ? (uncovering it 

Nicoi. Hide it! Hide it away from my eyes. 

(he shrinks back and turns aioay 

Sandy. ( to 3fonduff) I never expected hhn to take on that way ; 
ho never did anytliiiig to my knowledge to show that he waa di'ead- 
fal fond of him when living. 

Mon. But he feels it more now he is dead. 

Nicol. (advancing) It's a dreadful sight, Mr. Monduff. Ye can- 
ttot blame me if I am a little more upset than a christian man should 
be about any mere worldlj' loss, but I liked the lad well. 

( shivering and turning avoay 
Enter Sheriff Smart and David, c. D, 

Smart. Where's the body ? 

Sandy. ( lifting the covering) Here, sheriff. 

Smart, (examining it) This is no case of accident — it is murder! 

All. Murder! 

Sinart. Yes, strangulation by some one with tar on his hand. 

Mon. It is not possible that any one could have lifted a hand 
a^^ainst him, for he was liked by all who knew him. 

Smart. Probably, probably! Who found the body? 

Sandy. I did. 

Smart, (taking notes ) And you identified it at once? 

Sandy. Yes ; I knew Jeames Falcon before he went to sea, and I 
saw him yesterday v/ith these clothes on. But the laird here can 
Hpeak to that as well as me, for he was a friend of his. 

Smart, (to Nicol ) And you also identifled it ? 



^S A ULD B OB IN Git A T. 

Xicol. I'm Sony to say that I have no doubt it is my poor friencl, 
for I saw him Avith those clothes on no later than last night. 

Smart. Where was he last seen alive? 

Nicol. At Brownie's Bite, I believe. 

Smart. Then he was n(»t living with you? 

Nicol. { shakinrj his head mrmrnf idly) Xo, I wished he had been. 

Smart, How was that, when you liked him so well? 

Nicol. He wanted to get far away from his sweetheart who got 
married. 

Sinart. Oil, his lass married I What is her name now? 

Nicol. Mistress Gray. 

Smart. And where does she live now? 

Nicol. At Cairn ieford. 

Smart. Yes, yes ; I remember now — a daughter of Adam Lindsay 
the fisher — a fine body, a fine body, {to Nicol) Are you a relation. 
< if the deceased ? 

Nicol. Yes, a kind of one. 

Smart. Then, may be j^ou would not mind sending up a cart ti> 
remove the body ? 

Nicol. Certainty; but can I t;ike it to my house? 

Smart. Tliere's"^jio reason why you should not. 

Nicol. And I would like to bury him. It's the last service I can 
do him, w^o thought he would have been here to do that for me as 
my friend and heir. 

Smart. Oh, j'ou intended him to be your heir? Yes, you may 
bury him when you like after the doctor has examined him. 

Nicol. Thank you ; that is one small consolation at least. 

{all exit loiih the body, l. 

Enter, Bohin Gray and Carnegie, c. u. 

Bohin. Weel, here ye are at last! What kept ye? 

Carnegie. An awful thing, that's given me such a shock. 

Bohin. Xever mind telling what it was. Have ye brought a' the 
papers ? 

Carnegie, (giving him papers) Aye, here they all are, ready to sign. 

Bohin. Wrote out as I told ye, making over everything to her, 
an' leaving it a' in her own name to have an' to hand. " 

Carnegie. Yes. 

Bohin. {sitting down to sign) Weel, "where'll I sign? 

Carnegie. Tliere — {showing him) — but who's that? 

Enter, Jlondvff, c. d. 

Oh, it's you, Monduff ? I'm glad. 

Mon. Thank ye, but it's Cairnieford I wish to see, Mr. Carne.gle. 

Carnegie. There he is, and if you can persuade him to take time 
and consider what he is about to do, it is more than I can do. 

Bohin. For heaven's sake let theie be no more said about it. I 
tell ye there's no power on earth to mak' me change my mind. I'm 
going awa', an' I want to leave things so that \a hatevcr may happen 
to me, she may never come to want. 

Mon. I am here to deliver a message, although I will not refu-c 
any advice or assistance 3-ou may ask and I give. 
^ Bohin. Who is the message from? 
' Mon. Your wife. Slie b:ide mc say that the body of Jeames Fal- 



AULD B OBIX GBA T. S9 

con has been foiincl in the stream, aiid you arc to do what j^ou thijijv 
bei-t under the eh'cumstanees. 

rioUn. I canna' say that I'm sorry for hhn as I ^yould once 
hae been, for he's made my life a burden to me, and a curse. lie 
has made me out an outcast, without friends or home. I'm no' Bor- 
ry for liim. 

3Ion, Hark! (knocking c. he bolts the door 

Ciirneyie. What's wrong, minister? 

Man. Listen, Carnieford. I believe that's the fiscal and thesher- 
iff's officer — have you no cause to fear them'? 

Bohbi. Me? What for should I fear them? 

Man. You are sure? There is still time for you to get out bj' tlu' 
back window. For your wile's sake — Carnegie and I will turn our 
backs while you escape, if you wisli to do so. 

Bolnn. What would I be going out by the window for, when the 
door's there? 

^[on. You remember what I told you — Falcon's body has been 
fL>iuid. 

Bohin. An' what in the deil's name has that to do wi' me an' the 
window? 

Jlon. Then I may open the door? 

Bobin. Surely. {Monduff opens the door 

Enter Smart and others^ 2, 

Smart. Hallo, Cairnieford, you're here. It's a while since I have 
seen you; how are j'ou getting on? I heard you were about to 
travel? (grasping his hand. 

Bohin. Aye, it's true. 

Smart. I'm sorry to hear it. Well, before you go, will you part 
v,lth that cow you bought at the Lammas fair ? I'll give you ten 
pounds. Come, say the Avord — is it a bargain ? 

( 02)ens Bobin^s hand as if to put the money in 

Bobin. I canna bargain wi' ye for anything in the ijresent state 
o' my affairs. -'' (rising 

Smart. I would rather some one else had the job in hand, but 
since there is no help for it I must do my dut}'. Ilobin Gray, you 
are my prisoner. (seizing him 

Bobin. ^Vhtit do ye mean ? W^at hae I done? 

Smart. You are charged with the murder of James Falcon. 

Bobin. It's an infernal lie, an' ye shall never mak' me a prisoner 
on such a charge. I hated the man, an' when I found him an' my 
v.ife together, the deevil was strong in me to fell him on the spot, 
but I rjin awa' from the place so that I might not be tempted more 
Than I could bear, an' I have not seen him since. I'll answer for all 
that I have done in any court, but ye shall no' drag me to jail like a 
common thief, as long as I have strength in my arms to keep ye off, 

(swinging sta^f)- 

Smart. Your resistance only makes things look the worse against 
you. 

Mon. If you are innocent, Cairnieford, go with Mr. Smart quietly. 
That will be the best and firmest denial of the charge which he feels 
compelled to make against you. Be calm, I beseech yon, and not by 
your rashness add to the difficulties of your position. For your wife's 
Fake as well as your own, be careful what you do. 

Bobin, Aye, there's the thing o't. To think that this all coraes 0* 



y 



J^d AULD BOB IN GBAt. 

caring too much about her. Well, well, what needs I care for life 
or anything that may befall me? 'I'he worst an' the best of it is, we 
can only die once. ( throwing awaij staff) I'll go wi' j'-e, fiscal, 
peacefully. Do ye want to put me in irons? { holding met hands) 
Here, put your hancl-cuffs on my wrists and your shackles on my 
feet — do wV me as ye like— I dinnamind anything now. 

Smart. There will be no necessity for such desperate precautions. 
You'll only have to come over to the jail with me, and you'll have 
to let a turnkey sleep in the saine cell — I mean room with you — 
that's all, and I give you my word that you shall be treated with tho 
respect due to a man who may be able to prove himself innocent. 

Bohin. Thank ye. 

Mon. And until you have failed to do that, do not think that 
your friends will forsake you. 

Bohin. Friends? I hae a few o' them, but if I had thousands 
they could never gie me back the peace I hae lost, or clear the gaid 
name that's trampled in the mire this night. 

Enter Adam and Jeannie, c. d. 

Jean, {running to him) Kobin, my husband! my husband ! 

Bobin. (throioingherof) Off, woman! Is it not enou'^h that 
ye hae brought me to this disgirace, but ye maun come to aftVont me 
in my humiliated state, and add insult to injury ' 



Jean. ( sinking on her knees ) O, woe is me ! O, woe is me I 

TABLEAU — CURTAIN. 



ACT Y. 

SCENE FIBST.-~Sheriff''s department in the jail. Heavy har^c^ 
door to the hack, door and windoio l., tv:o doors r. 2\-ibIe loith lofiting 
material and chairs in the room. The Sheriff and Jeannte discovered. 

Smart, {writing at the table) .Well, Mrs. Gray, I am a friend of 
your husband; let that be distinctly understood between .us, and 
you'll easily see that the questions I am going to ask you arc ms 
much for his own benefit, as because they comein the way of my 
duty. 

Jean. I'm glad you are his friend, sir, and I'll try and answer 
your questions. 

Smart, Sit down then, and make yourself as comfortable as you 
can. {writing her ansirer doion 

Jean. Thank you. ( sitting douon 

Smart. You were at Brownie's Bite on Tuesday night last ? 

Jean, I was. 

Smart. What took you there ? 

Jean. A man came after me with a gig, and took me there to at- 
tend my husband, who had got hurt, so he said. 

Smart. And while you were there Cairnieford arrived and had 
gome words with you and James Falcon ? 

Jean, {loith diijicuUy ) Yes. 

Smart. Well, after you had separated, what then? 

Jean. I was left alone in the house. 



AVLD BOBIN GBAY. M 

J^marU Did you look out of the house after them ? 

Jean. I did. 

Smart. Did j-ou see anything? 

jean. It was very dark. 

Smart. ^ Yes, but there was lightning, you might have seen some- 
thing when it flashed. 

Jt^an. It was raining very hard, and the lightning dazzled my 
eyes. 

>^ijiart. Well, you heard something at any rate? 

Jean, (with eraotion ) Oh, man, how can you expect me to be 
willing to answer what may be tlic death of my husband V 

Smart. Then you did hear a cry "? 

Jean. Yes, heaven help me, I did. 

Smart. And after that you fainted ? 

Jea7i. Oh, ask me no more about it. 

Smart. Come, Mrs. Gra)', I'm sorry to trouble you, but I have a 
little more to ask you. AVhat was it frightened you into the faint? 

Jean. {choJcingly) I cannot riglitly stiy what. 

Smart. Was it your husband's voice? ^j^. 

Jean. I could not say. I did not set^ him. 

Smart. But you heard him, and that was what frightened you, 
and youfjiinted. 

Jean. Who told you that? Kobln? 

Smart. That's neither here nor there. But you have seen him 
eince then — I mean since you got home from Brownie's Bite? 
• Jean. Yes, I saw him on Wednesday. 

Smart. And did you know he was going to leave the country? 

Jean. He said he was going away. ' 

Smart. What was his reason for that? 

Jean. Nothing but the quarrel betueen him and me — and that 
has been the cause of all his trouble and mine, pii, sir, do not ask 
any moie questions, I liave nothing'more to tell you, and you are rend- 
ing my heart with every word. 

Smart. I'll relieve j'ou in a minute, Mrs. Gray, (handing paper) 
If you'll read this over and sign it, if there's nothing in it you object 
to. • 

Jean, (looking at it) Must I sign it? 

Smart. I am afraid I will have 'to insist, unless there is some- 
thing in it you think you have not said. 

Jea?i. Tliere is nothing — but— 

Smart. You are afraid'it w'lU go against him ? But you must not 
lose heart; I hope he'll come through all riglit. 

Jean, (signing ii) Do you think that? Oh, sir, do you think 
that? 

Smart. I hope so, Mrs. Gray. I must try to find the man who 
brought the gig for you, as he might give the affair a new turn. 

Jean. Then I'll tind him I 

Smart. How do you propose to seek him ? 

Jean. I do, not know yet, but v/ill you let me see my good 
man for a miinite. I liave just one word to speak to him. Oh, s'".-, 
do not refuse, he is in sore need of some one to Ind him keep up his 
heart, and may be if he knows that I'm trying to save him it wiil 
igive him courage to bear the cruel shame that's on him. 

Sm,art. Yes, you can see him, and I wish you may be able to 
cheer him, tor he's more downcast than any man I ever saw. Wait 
a while. (exit, Smart., r, 

Jean. God strejigthen and sustain me iu t-is, my hour of trial. 



i^ AULD BOBIN GliAY.^ 

Enter Turnkey, R., who opens the c. door, and then stands apart* 
Enter Robin, c. ». 

Bohin. Jeannie! {turning axoay 

Jean. T set' you are not pleased that I should come near you, even 
when in suvh' sore need of friends as you are now, but 1 will not 
trouble .you lono^. 

Bohin. 1 wasna' expecting ye. 

Jean. No. You ihonght that I would leave you to whatever 
rn'oht hjippen, without tr^ying to help you, but I could not. I do- 
not care what you may think of me, but I could not sit idle at home 
and know you needed help without trying to give it to you. 

Bohin. I'm thnnkfu' to ye. 

Jean. I ilid not seek yotir thanks, I did not need them. With 
h^ iven's will I shall do what a wife should do for you in your 
trouble. 

Bohin. I'm thankfu' to ye. 

Jean. I have just one question to ask, and after that I'll not 
trouble you any more with my presence. 

Bohin. I'm listening. 

Jean. Did you meet Jeames Falcon after you left me in Girzie's 
liouso? Did you see him again, or hear him again, or come near 
him in any way? 

Bohin. Ye, too, doubt me. But what else could I expect. Ye; 
who w\QY cared for me nnd loved him; what could ye be but the 
first one to ttiink me guilty? 

Jean. Oh. man! do not speak those cruel false words now — but 
answer me — answer me from your heart, truly, as though you were 
at the judgement seat, and give me stren«2th to save you. 

Bohin. i never saw him, or heard hhn, or came near him, to my 
knowledge, after I left him and you in Girzie's house. 

Jean. ''God be thanked — God be thanked for that — I believe you — 
though yoti did not believe me when I told you the truth. 

Bohin. Won)an ! Wom;ui ! I am cast down wi' shame. 

Jean. Do )iot be downcast, you shall not die the death of shame. 
Heaven will not lei it be; and there is one who will never rest, day 
or niuht, till all that looks black against you is made clear. 

Bifhin. Je;Hinie, Jeannie, ye mak' my heartache wi' the" thought 
o' the wrong t hae done ye. Oh, I hae been mad — mad, and God 
lielp me, I only see it now when maybe it is too late — Jeannie! 
(holding out his arms tovjards har, she is about to rash to him ivhen [ 

Smart enters r. 

Smart. Excuse me for interrupting you, Mr. and Mrs. Gray, but 
two smuggler prisoners have arrived, whom I wish to question 
liere. Will you please retire with your husband into his own cell — 
1 should say room— where you can continue your interview undis- 
turbed. 

Jean. Certainly. 

He sees them into the back room, then motions the Turnkey to bring in 
the prisoner. 

Smart. Bring in Carrach first, (sitting at table — exit turnkey, l., 
and re-enter vnth Carrach in irons) AVell, man, you are here, arrest- 
ed on a certain charge. What have you to say for yourisclf ? 



AULD ROBIN GBAY. ^S 

' Car: No' caring what the charge '11 be, she'll no' h Jiing 

to say. 

Smart. The evidence is strong against you, so j'on had better give 
n full confession of the facts, and niaybe clear yourself. 

Car. Was that sae'? Oicli, but she was sorry for it. And who's 
was the evidence — no' the lairds? 

Smart, {aside) Ah I so the laird is implicated ? Yes, and Doti- 
ald, your mate's. 

Car. Did tliey told you all apout it? 

Smart. Yes. 

Car. Tlien what '11 you want me to told yon again for? 

Sraart. For your own sake, and to get at the truth as near as 
possible. 

Car. Heb — and wliar's the laird? 

Smart. He'll soon not be far off from yon. 

Car. Whar was that? 

Smart. In the next cell to yours, a prisoner like yourself, (aside) 
Surely that will make him speak out. 

Car. The laird in shail? That was a fall doon. Weel, you'll 
shnst go to him, he'll told you what you'll want to know. I'll 
no' spoke a word — p,y tarn. 

Smart. Then you'll not answer any questions? 

Car. No, it was dry work to spoke when she'll have no whiskey, 
and she'll no' spoke a say. 

Smart, (to Turnk<?>/) Take this stubborn brute off and bring in 
the mate, (exit, Tanikeij v:ith Carrach) The prospects are these 
men have been engaged with the laird in more deviltry than smug- 
gling. 

Re-enter Turnkey ivith Donald, in irons, 2 e. l. 

Donald. What am I brought here foi-, I'd like to know? T have 
done notliing wrong, and by — (aside — seeing Smart) Tlie Fiscal ! 

Smart, (looking up) We have not been the best of friends, still I 
wish to help you out of this scrape, if you say you are innocent and 
are sensible enough to tell the truth. 

Don. I have done nothing to bring me into the scrape. I know 
nothing to tell. 

Smart. Well, you Avill be likely to keep Carrach company in the 
cell, perhaps on the gal — (knocking heard) Open that door! 

(the Turnkey opens the hack door, and 

Jeannie enters suddenly. 

Jean, (pointing to Donald) That's the man ! 
' Smart. What man ? 

Jean. The man who brought me in the gig to Brownie's Bite, and 
told me the lie that my husband was hurt. 

Don. I did no more than obey Cautach's orders, and if harm came 
put of it, it was not my fault. 

* Sninrt. ( aside) Ho, ho ! This is the rascality they think they 
have been ari-ested for, and in which the laird is implicated ! You 
had better make a clean breast of it ; holding yoiu- tongue will not 
help Carrach, and will do yourself harm. 

Don. What is it you w^ant to knbw? 

Smart. All about how and why you came to take Mrs. Gray to 
Brownie's Bii;e. 



'U ■ AULD BOBiy an AT. 

Don. Well, the skipper gave mo orders, and I went to tlie'laircl'g 
after the gig, and took it dowji to Cairnieford for you, aa<l said what 
I wag told to say, then took you where I was told to take you, as 
you know. 

Jean, Was this Carrach the skipper of the Colin ? 

Dov. Yes. He sailed it for the laird. 

Jeaiu What? Oh, I see it all now, thank God ! I see it all! 

Smart. See it all I What? Explain yourself. 

Jean. Send him off". 

Smart. Take him bauk to his cell. (exit Turnkey and Donald) 
Well, Mrs. Gray. 

Jeau. Jeames Falcon told me himself, that awful night, that the 
reason why he staid in Portlappoch was to bring this Carrach to 
justice for some ill he had done him. 

Smart. What ill? 

Jean. The ill was the burning of the Colin, which has been tho 
cause of all his misfortune. 

Smart. Yes ; but Mrs. Gray, what has the laird to do with all 
this. 

Jean. The laird, as owner of the vessel, probably knew of its be- 
ing set on tire, but did not object, as he had a heavy insurance on it, 
and wishing to get James out of the way, they together planned th« 
affair at Brownie's Bite. Ah, Kobin, the worst is past now, you 
will yet be free. 

Smart. I hope the worst is past, Mrs. Gray, but your husband 
will not be safe until we can prove some one else committed the 
murder. 

Jean. We know now what will force the laird to speak. 

Smart. He'll s;iy nothing as long ;i,s he can avoid it. I'll go now. 
iv.v^ — .^t out a warrant for his arrest, anyway. I'li meet you liere in 
an hour. 

{exit, L, 
Enter Carnegie and Ilutcheson, r. 

Cam. Ah, Mrs. Gray, you are here! I have been seeking you. 
Here to see your gooil man, 1 suppose? 

Jean. Yes, and I have now got vv'hat wiU force the laird to give 
me the proof of Robin's innocence. 

Gam. What have you ? 

Jean. Carrach and his mate, the man who brought in the gig, are 
both here in the jail, and the man has confessed enough to force 
Clashgirn to clear Robin of the nnirder of Jeames Falcon. 

Cam, We have the proof already, if what this man says is true. 

Jean. What does he say? 

Cam. He says that James Falcon has cheated us a second time, 
and he's not dead at all ! 

Jean. My God ! Can it be possible? 

Cktrn. So this man says. 

Jean. Whose corpse is it then that was found? 

Ca.<tm. I'm fairly at my wit's end to know. Everybody said it 
was Fjilcon's. 

.hean. • Did you see the body? i 

Cujrn. Xo. • ''■ 

Jd'an. Then I'll go and look at it, and I will force the laird to es:- 
plafei what looks so'dark. 

Cam. I wish you would. I'll be ready to go with you directly ; 
I have just to settle one or two things about Carrach first. 



AULD nOBI2T GBAY, 4$ 

\ Jean, You will not set him free ? 

i Cam, No; althouo;h we cannot churge him with the murder, wo 
can keej) him on another charge, Hutcheson declares that the signa- 
ture to the statement of the crew, about the burning of the Colin, 
was not his, and is consequently a forgery. Aha! We'll bind l»ini 
tight enough on that, (sitting down to write 

Jean, (to Hutcheson) Where is Jeamie Falcon, and why does he 
not come here ? 

Hutch. He'll not here, mistress. I left him aboard the vessel out 
In the bay; he bade me come ashore to see Mr. Carnegie about the 
Colin business, and said if he wanted to see him he must come where 
he was, for he had promised never to set foot in this place again. 

Jean. Can you go and see him now ? ^ 

Hutch, I do not know, but I can try. 

Jean, See him then, and tell him that it was me that hegged and 
prayed him for the sake of all that's past and gone, between him and 
me, to come back and save my husband's life, who lies in jail on hia 
account, 

Hutch^ I'll do your will. 

Jean. Bring him here to Xr, Smart. If its true that he's living 
still, he will come when you say that it was me who sent for him. 

Cam, Sign this, Hutcheson. (he signs paper) I?^ow seek Falcon 
ami bring him here as soon as possible. That's the first thing, and 
the ftrst thing you have got to do, Mrs. Gray, is to learn who it is 
that has been murdered, and how the mistake was made in Ids iden- 
tity, {exitj Hutcheson, k. 

Jean, I see it all now, sir, I see it all, 
I Cam, How — what? 

Jean, The body that was found the folk all said was Jeamie Fal- 
con's, so there must have been something about it to make them 
think so. 

Cam, Yes, what then ? 

Jean, It was the clothos. Now Carrach went by stealth to kill 
James Falcon, and in the dark mistook Wattle Todd, who somehow 
had his suit on for him. 

Cam. That may be, but say nothing about it at present. The argu- 
meat acts both ways, and may be used against Cairnleford as well as 
for him. Who is that coming? 

Enter Hutcheson, r. 

Cam, You are soon back ? 

Jean. Have you seen him ? 

Hutch, I 2,ot word to him sooner than I expected, and that's how 
I'm so soon back. 

Jean, (eagerly) Have you seen him? 

Hutch. Yes, mistress, and I'm looking foi» him here every 
minute. 

Jean, Are you sure he will come ? 

Hutch. Why, should he not come? The minute I acquainted hira 
that it was you who had sent for him, he bade me come here and teU 
jou to wait for him. 

Enter Jeamie, r, 

Jean, O, thank God! 

Jeam, You sent for me, and I have come, Mrs. Gray, as 1 said t 
would only when you yourself prayed for me to come to you. 

Jean. I sent for you to ask you to help me save my husband from 
at death of shame. 

Jeam. {turning' Ms head away) Me? 



>j,.n AULD Pi OB IX an A Y. 

Jean. Yon will not refnsp to s'ltisf}'- Robin how much lie hns 
•wroiigerl both yon and mo in his thouo-hts, by proving yourself his 
best friend in the hour of his sore need ? 

Jeam. {covering hi. -^ face) I, his friend? 

Jean. For my snke. Jenmie; for the sake of nil T have borne on 
your nccount, and t-ou on mine, s:ive him. Do not refuse me this. 

Jeam. Me save him ? That's a hard job you ask me to undertake 
— harder than you seem to think. Bat ali your pity is for him, 3^011 
have none for me, althoui^li 1 have lo'^t and he has \von what I lost. 
It is ao:ainst nature tor me to try to restore him to the hap])iness thnt 
his life bars me from forever — the. happiness I think bini unworthy 
of after the scorn he has cast on you. 

Jean. Hush, Jeamie! Do not speak that way, he was deceived 
by false tongues, and blinded witli passion. I would not ask you to 
Vlo this, biit that there is nobody who can help him as you can, if 
you will. 

- Jeam. I did not come to spe;d<: that way ; I came to learn what 
you soiiglit of me, and to do 5'our biddins;. You have -isked more 
than T thought I could do", even for yon, and that made me forget 
:myself. But it's the last time you shall ever hear from me about 
M^hat's past and gone. The lassie" who tilled life with hope and light 
to me is dead, but for htr sake, for the sake of the svveet memory 
she lias left me, I will do what I can for you, even to helping Robin 
Gray. 

Jean. Thank you, Mr. Falcon. 

Cam. Tlie lirst thing we want to know then, Jeameg, is whose 
body is this that has bee'n taken lor yours? 

Jeam. Wattle Todds. with my clothes on. 

Cam. Just that. Well now, we Avaiit to know how he came to 
have your clothes on, that you were seen wearing that very after- 
noon ? 

Jeam. ITie poor ^'ul took it into his head to follow me, to see the 
big ships with g\ins, as he said, and crossing the ford after me he got 
Avet to the skin. So I forced him to put^on a cast off suit of mine, 
and it was just then we went into the house and found Mi's. Gray. 

Jean. All that ]ia?sed from that time to the time you quitted the 
house, Mr. Carnegie has heard. 

Cam. Thank you ; that's perfectly clear how he came to have on 
your clothes, and as he,was about your size, and as his features were 
unrec(\Q,'nizablc, that explains liow his body was taken for yours. 
Now tell me, have you any suspicion as to who murdered him"? 
, Jeam. I have my suspicion that the laird knoAvs, if he would only 
tell! 

^ Jean. I will go and force him to tell ! Oh, Robin ! Robin ! Jus- 
tice will yet be done you ! {exit, l. 

Enter C-rirzie, excited, r. 

Gir,r)e. Oh, ye're here, .Teames F-^lcon ! It's fine times ye hac 
gien us, and my poor Wattle to die for ye. Ohone I Ohoiie ! 

(situin/i dovm, viailinrf 

Jeam. Girzie, Wattle w-as the only companion and friend I had, 
when in sore trouble. Xext to yourself, T think, he liked rae best, 
;;nd you cannot know how bitterly 1 feel your loss, thinking that I 
am in some way paitly to blame for it. 

Crir.-ie. I'nrno doitered, Jeanne, though I'm broken doAvn sair 
with this, and I blame nobody but them who thought the foul 
tliought, and struck the blow that robbed me 0' my bairn. 



AULD BOBIN GBAY, 41 

Jeam, Tliey shall paj- for it, do not doubt that! 

Oirzie. Who? Carrach my brither or JS'icol who's Wattie'a 
faitlier ! 

Jeam. AVhat! Canach your brother, and the laird Wattie's 
father ? 

Girzie. Ay, there's the sting o't. On the one hand is my brither, 
on the other hand is his faither. Oh, the curse has foSowed liiiu 
from his birth, and the sins of his parents on him, an' on them 
through him. {rising ici-Ji hands raised and teeth clenched) But if I 
knew the truth I would hae justice I 

Jecan. You sliall know tlie truth before many hours pass. 

Girzie, Give me liope o' that ? I 

Jeam, You will, :is sure as 1 am alive I 

Girzie. (taking packit 'jut of her hosoni) Ay, the dead came to 
life the daj'. (handing him it) There, that's yours — they're letters 
o' your mithers. 

Jean\ My mothers I (looking at them 

Girzie. Aye, I nursed her when she was dying at Clashgk'n. She 
gied me these, and told me to keep them, and no' to let anybody 
know I liad tlienij but to gie them to ye if ever the day came ye 
th )uld need ten, 

Jeam. Why did you not give them to me before? 

Girzie. I dldna' come across them till noo. Weel, I'll awa'. 
Ohone, my Wattle ! Ohone ! { exit, l. 

Jeam, [aside) What's tliis? Mj-- mother's dying statement, and 
the proof of my heirship to all the property of Clashgirn. O man, 
nnau, how you are steeped in devillshness! (to Carnegie) Did you 
kn >w Hugh Sutherland? 

Cam. Do you mean the former owner of Clashgirn? 

Jeam, Yes, him. 

Cam. To be sure I knew him, but that was about twenty years 
ago. What about liim ? 

Jeam. Would j'ou know his handwriting? 

Cam. Aye, among tliat of a thousand. 

Jeam. Are these letters written by him ? . ( showing them 

' Cam. (looking them over) Aye, positively ! > 

Jeam. That will do. (exit, Carnegie^ l. 

Enter Nicol, R. 

NicoL Od' ! It's extraordinar' ! I did not expect the pleasure of 
seeing you. A tine hobble you have brought us all into. 
, Jecira, ]Sricol McWhapple, I \^'ould si)cak: ^vith you. 

Nicol, Od'! It's extraordinar' ! Wtiat's wanting? 

Jeam, Laird, people J;j»ave told me before tliat you had wronged 
me. 
\ NicoJ, Folks say queer things in this world, Jeamie. 

Jeam. But tlie queer thingv'i they hinted at, in this case, were 
true. 'Nat verv^ long ago I refused to listen to their suspicions, be- 
cause I thought even lisiening to them was ingratitudt- to you. Xow 
Jf know their sus^)icior,s to hasve been true. Tliat packet which my 
dying mother entrusted to her nLirse, was delivered to me. This is 
it in my hand. (showing it 

Nicol. Oom-hoo! And who was it gave you those interestiii^; 
l^apers? y approoj'^hing sliiy 

Jeara. Girzie Todd. (Xicol tri'zs to match them) Buck, or i'ii 
t'rain you I 



4S AULD BOBIN GRAY. 

Nicol. I was just making fun when I pretended that I wns gomo 
to snatah the papers from you. What do you tell me this story for? 
If you think it true, and can prove it, why do you not go to a lawyer 
at once, and set the beadles at mv heels ?*^ 

Jeam. Had jou given me t'he Askaig Place when I asked for it 
you would have been safe to-da}^ : as it is., your infernal trickery has 
fo marred the dearest hopes of my life that I do not care a single 
fetraw for the wealth it is in my power to claim. 

Nicol. {ironically) Verj^ kind of you, that. 

Jeam. 1 wish to make a bargain with you for Jeannie's sake. 
Clear Cairnieford of the false charge against him, for I believe you 
know the real culprit, and on the day he leaves the jnil a free and 
unblemished man, I will deliver these papers to you to do with as 
vou please. I will leave the country, and you will never hear of me 
or the Colin again. 

Nicol. Had it not been for you I might have been safe and w^ell 
'to-dtiy. But you have been like a stone around my neck from the 
iirst day I saw you. Every day and every hour you reminded me of 
'^vllat was past, and kept me in' torture of' fear for what might be to 
come, and now you upset all my schemes, and you now shake tho 
, terrors of the gallovrs in my face. 
I Jeam. 1 otler you the means to escape it. 

I Nicol. You cannot do that, and if you could I Avould not accept 
it from you. ]!^o, I'll stand my gi'ound to the last, now; for I ]nay 
as well die as lose everything I have spent my life to win. 

Jeam. You have chosen your course, and you will find it a short 
one, for in an hour from this I'll have Carnidi a comi>anion. 

Nicol. I drawinr/ dirk, and openim/ a small snuff box ) Hang me? 

You could not do that, you haAC not tlie power to do it.' I am 

1 wrongfully accused. I'm a martyred man, but I'll have the law on 

you, sir— I'll have {seeing JIutcheson, who advances) Who is 

Ihnt ? 

Hatch. Take another pinch, laird, it will do you good. 

Nicol. (putting zip box and dirk) Who istlia*t? 
, Jeam. A friend come to hear what information you have to give 
on this extraordinary smuggling- business. 

Nicol. I know nothing about it. {trembling with fear 

Hutch. I should tell you, lalvd, that tlie only chance you have is 
j to make a cleiui breast of it, and tell us everything. 
' Nicol. Do you really think that. 

Hutch. Vni sure of It. 

Nicol. And if I tell— that is if I had anything to tell— wiU it 
' give me a chance to get out of the scrape? 

Hutch. Surel3\ surel}^ 

Nicol. They will not hang me, it M'as not me who did it. I'm an- 
imiocentmau. Oh, what's that? They're coming! Oh, save me I 

Girzie enters suddenly, Nicol kneels in terror before her. 

Girzie. Ye're a puir miserable coward. How ye suffer ; but ye 
hae brought it on yourself. 

Nicol. {rising disdainfully) All what, woman? Are you mad?' 
"What's wrong? 

Girzie. Everything's wrong. Fly, man, fly ! They are on your 
heels! 

Nicol. Who ? Let them come on J 



AULD BOBTN GRAY, 49 

' Giritie. Kae. I canna let them take ye, much wrongs as ye hae done 
me. Yc were the faithei- o' my dead Wattie, and must nae hang on 
the gallows if I can save ye. Come awa', thei-e's maybe time' yet. 

JSficoi. >Vhat are you raving at, woman? What do yon mean? 

Girzic. Mrs. Gray for.nd \he pajun- ye hid, signed by Carrach, 
and it tells how my poo-r Wattle was done to death,*^ and oh, lord, it 
vvjis by my ain brither's hand, and through your ill schemes. 

Kicol. My God, woman ! 

Girzie. Ay, and they told me they were comin' to take ye pris- 
oner, and that ye would be hanged. 1 was glad until I mnided o' 
Wjittie and I came to help ye rin awa' for his sake. Oh, Jearaie 
Falcon and your frien', if ever ye cared for my bairn, wha' died for 
ye, turn awa your faces that ye may nae be tempted to do your duty, 
and for his sake let me siive his faither from a cruel death if jq can. 

Jeam. We will, for Wattle's sake, Girzie. {they turn their heads 

Girzie. Come awa' then, if jq v/ant to live, we can get onto' this 
window afore they come. {she seizes hint by the waist 

Nicol. But, woman, I have not my money to take with me. 

Girzie. Come awa', or the only money yell need will be as 
much as will buy a shroud. 

iShe drags him too y and almost ^ntshes him out of window ^ following 

herself. 

Enter Smart, L, 

Jea^n. (aside) The fiscal I What am I to say to him ? 

Smart. Let them go. We have the true culprit safe, the laird 
will l)e punished enough by his own conscience, j^ow please stand 
to one side awhile. 

Jeam. We will leave. {exit tcith IIutGheson,R, 

Smart, (opens back door and calls) Cairnieford ! 

Enter Bobin, c. d. 

Robin. Is anything wrong, sir? Hae ye any news for me ? Is 
my wife weel, or 

Smart. Quietly, Cairnieford. One question at a time, and before 
I say a word understand this, I am here as your friend, not as the 
fiscal. 

Robin. 1 understand, sir, and thank ye, and ye may count on me 
laying nae stress on v/hat ye may say if ye should need to alter 
your words hei eafter. 

Smart. That's right, and I'm glad that I have good news for you. 

Robin. She's weel then? She'll come to see me again? 

Smart. Your good wife? Oh, yes, she is finely, and I hope 
you'll be able to save her the trouble of coming to see you here, by- 
going to see her. 

Robin. Eh? What? 

Smart. Now mind, it's Mathew Smart, not the fiscal speaking. 

Robin. Ay, ay ! I mind. 

Smart. AVell, then, there's been a mistake someway, the fiscal 
Was misled by the information he got, so the chances are that as 
^oon as the needful formalities are gone through with, you'll be set 
free. 

Robin. Free? 

Smart. Yes free, that's the word, and as clear of any suspicion of 
guilt as if you had never been here. 



so AIJLD BOBIN GBAT. 

Bohin. But how — how has it come fibout ? I'm dazed by it ad- 
it's sae sudden. 

Sraart. You have your wife to thank, and James FaLion. 

Bobin. Falcon? 

Smart. Yes, just him. It was not him, but Girzie Todd's lad, 
Wattie, who was killed. That was what misled me — I mean the 
fiscal. 

Bohin, Heighho! {sighing 

Smart. "Why, man, what's wrong with j^ou? I thought you 
would have been leaping for joy, instead of that you look as though 
I had brought you word that your execution would take place Fri- 
day. 

Bobin. Falcon's no' dead ? 

Smart. No — are you sorry for that? 

Bobin. Sorry ? The Lord forbid ! It's a shame for me to look 
ungrateful; but, man, if you had borne what I hae on his account, 
ye would naeiind it an ensy matter to jiccept sae much favor at his 
hands. Lord forgie me, but I amaist feel as thougli 1 would rather 
hae been left here to die than owe my life to ought thnt he has done. 

Smart. Hoots, man, that's not like you. But you'll think better 
of it before long, and 1 hope then you'll give the lad your hand and 
say you are sorry for your mistake, as 1 have done with you. 

Enter Mondnff and Carnegie, K. 

Bobin. My wife, she hasna come wi' ye ? 

Mon. No, you see she's had a great deal to do, and she has over- 
worked herself. 

Cam. You'll not be long until you see her, have no fear of that, 
Cairnieford. The woman who could do what she has for you, must 
have that in her henrt Avhich will make her glad to welconie you I 
when she learns that you place value on her welcome. I 

Bobin. Value on her welcome? Oh, man, I care nought for a' j 
the world's welcome if she be nae one to say it's weel 1 hae been ; 
spared — it's weel there's nae shame on me. i 

3Ion. Yes, but remember how you parted from her, and then ; 
set yourself with all your might to prove to her that whatever you ' 
may have thought, felt or \said, in passion, you see how false it all 
was, now that you are calm. 

Enter Jeamic, unobserved, E. 

Bobin, Thank ye, sir, for that; it gives me courage and hope 
too. I will prove to her that I know her worth, and how cruelly I 
hae tried her. But where is she ? 

Jlon. xYdam went back to his old home, and Mrs. Gray went 
there with him. 

Cam. And Jeamie Falcon turns out to be laird o' Clashgirn. 

Jfon. Son of Hugh Sunderland. 

Bobin. I suspected that, and I told ye o' t at the time they buried 
the lady, but yewouldna hear o' sic a thing. 

Carn. What could I do on mere susiiicion? Besides, I must con- 
fess that I was deceived bj'^ the laird's saintly way — very much de- 
ceived, {seeing Jeamie 

Bobin. Deceived? Ah, so was I, to my shame. 

Jlon. I think it a duty you owe the poor lad and yourself, to 
tell him so, for nothing will better satisfy the folk of your sorrows 
for his misfortune. 



AULD ROBIN GBAY. 51 

Cam. And here he is ready. {hringbuj Jeamie forward 

Uobin. Janiv's Falcon, or Mr. Sunderland, as I understand ye 
Bhoald be CHlled now, will 3-e speak wi' me a minute? It's easier 
to be forgiving in the depths o' shame than v/hen we're in the 
pride o' health and strength. I doul)tna it's my fault, and i^artly 
yours, tiiat Vfattie Todd's lying a corpse, and ye canna refuse to 
hear me afore the sod is laid on him. 

Jcnra. I'm listening. 

liobin. I Avant to ask a question flrst. Ye know what it is to care 
mair for a body than for a' the world, and a' that's in't beside. Tell 
me tlien if ye had been in my place at Brownie's Bite what would 
ye hae done? 

Jeam. I do not know. 

Eohin, If every thought ye had, had been linked to her; if every 
hope hnd sprung frne lier; if she liad been light and joy and hame to 
ye; ifslie had been a' tiiat the heart could care for^r head think about; 
and JO, had been cheated wi' suspicions o' her; poisoned vvi' doubts 
o' her by a lieing tongue and strange circumstances, tell me, sir, 
what would ye hae done had ye been in my place? 

Jeam. I would liave been blhid and mad as you were, I believe. 

Robin. It was an honest man that answered me. Will ye tak' 
my hand now, for I feel nae shame in asking ye to pardon Avhatever 
w^rong I hae done ye. . (offering Jiis hand 

Jeam. (taking, it) Hush, forget that if you can, let it be 
buried in poor Wattle's grave, and some day, maybe years after 
this, long weary years they may be to me, but happy ones to you, I 
hope, perhaps you and your wife will be ;ible to call me your friend, 

liobin. I call ye that now, and I am grateful to ye for letting me 
do it. I can teel sometlnng o' what ye hae sacriticed in helping me. ^ 
But, sir, when I thought ye were*^in trouble I sought to olfer you ' 
help, ye know how i M'as cheated, and I only ask ye to judge me 
by what ye migiit hae tliought and done under the same circum- 
stances. ' • I 

Jeam. I do that. I am glad you have called me friend, and I'll i 
try and prove myself worthy of the name by quitting the port as 
soon as I can. She says it would be better so, and she is right. God 
bless her I 

Enter Adam and Jeannie, R. 

liobin. Ye here, Adam ? 

Adara. (stiMv ) I'^^i glad to see ye on the right side o' the jail, 
sir. 

liobin. Thank ye, Adam, though ye look as if ye're rather angry 
at the sight o' me. Weel, yediad reason to be angry wi' me, but I 
own I was in the wrong, and I hae suffered for it. Dinna bear ill 
will against me longer "than ye can help. 

Adam. ( stiijltj as before) I bear nae ill will. 

Robin. Wli^re is Jeannie ? 

Adam. My dochter is here. (pointing to her 

Robin, (kneeling ) Jeannie, will naething move ye to forgive me? 

Jean, (raising him) I have done that long since, Robin, for I 
know you must have borne much sorrow, but — 

Robin. Dinna say that. God knows what I have borne, and God 
knows it was because ye were sae dear to me that I was eae blind. 

Jeau. Your eyes, are they open now ? 

Robin. Ayl . 



5S AULD BOBIX GBAY. 

Jean. You have no doubt left in your heart that I have told you 
the truth ? 

llohin. Ye mind me o' my ain shame, ye mind me o' my ain mis- 
ery when ye asiv that. 

Jean. But it might rise between us again? 

Bohin. Ye winna trust me? Oh, Avoman, if there could be any- 
thing come atween us, the memory o' that wild night at Brownie's 
Bite would make me crush it aneath my foot, like the poison head o' 
a serpent ! 

Jean. I believe you, Robin; so there. {giving her hand 

Rohin. And our frlen', Jeamie? {turning to him 

Jeam. Here is mine. {giving his hand 

Bohin. A n d Ada m ? 

Adam. . Weel, here then. { giving his 

Mond. We'll all join hands, for we are all friends and brothers, 
since 'Sve are all John Thomson's Bairns." 

{all join hands and sing '^Auld Lang Syne'* 



TABLE AU— C UET AIK, 



AULD nOBIX ar.AY. 53 



SYNOPSIS OF OCIDEiN'TS. 

ACT \.—*' It is an ill wind that blow x naehody guil." SCEISTE. — Portlap- 
pock pier. Yo-ho. yo-ho, my hearties ! The Ush wife's opinion ns to sail- 
ing on Friday. The skipper Ivan's determination nnrl oath. liohin ex- 
presses his admiration to Adam of his daughter. Tbe laird and Jeamie 
come to an understanding. The lad and lass alone, *'To make the crown 
a pound," Jeamio resolves to go to sea. Renewal of their troth-plight. 
Nicol arouses Carrach's hatred for ihe lad, and besoeaks hitn a berib. Gir- 
zie eavesdrops and smells mischief. "This hist (mh brace my pledge shall 
be." The anchor's weighed. Friends bid good speed. The fi3bwife'3 warn- 
ing. *'The Colin is doomed." Departure of the vessel. Tableau. 

Act \l.— There's a'i guidfish in the. sea as has ever been caught." SCENE. — 
Interior of the fishermaii's cot. Jeamie's prophetic vision. The invalid 
and cripple bewail their ill-lncl:. The cow stolen away. The minister's 
consolaiion. "The Lord's will be ilone." Robin aS a (riend indeed. The 
laird and the skipper witness the misery they make. Girzie's warning ful- 
filled. The news broken to the lass. woe is mo ! woe is me ! Jeannio 
inconsolable. Robin's proposal. A stern father's bidding obeyed. The 
auld farmer dances with joy. Jeannie crazed, sees her shipwrecked lover 
in her deli rum. Tableau. 

ACT III. — "Better be of' m' the auld love afore ye are on wi' the new^ 
SCENE. — Brownie's Bite, and disclosed interior of Girzie's cot. Waltie, tho 
human bellows, sees a ghost and gets a slap to bring him to his senses. 
The sailor lad's return. Ill news deferred. The blow struck, and Jeamio 
overcome. As false as fair. The dead come to life. Face to face. Love's 
despair and Fate's decree. The gooflman's jealousy aroused by the hypo- 
crite Nicol. The simpleton's persi.stance in followmg Jeamie. A clandes- 
tine meeting brought about by the laird and his lada. Robin discovers hia 
wife and her lover under suspicious circumstances. The quarrel, the 
threat, and the curse. Out in the storm. "0 woe is me !" Ttio murder on 
the bridge. Tableau. 

ACT IV. — ''It takes a wee spar/c to mak' a viuckle bleeze.^ ' SCENE. — Interior 
of the Port Inn. Gossips retailing the news. The fishwife inquiring the 
whereabouts of her son. Jeannie claims probection from her father. Moet- 
ing brought about by the minister. Explanation and recrimination. Au 
unsuccessful attempt at reconciliation. Robin compels the laird to explain. 
Doubts encouraged and faith utterly lost. Nicol and Carrach have a set- 
tlement in full. The body founfl and the slierifl'oalled. His verdict. The 
auld farmer and the lawyer consult. Business disturbed by Mathew and 
others. Robin Gray's arrest. Jeannie cast otf. Tableau. 

ACT V. — "Ifs a lang lane, thathaa nae end nor turning.^' SCENfi. — SheriS'3 
apartment in the jail. Jeannie examined and cross-questioned. An inter- 
view with her husband allowed, and interrupted, Carrach and his ac- 
complices in the toils. The cat out of the bag. Jeannie recognizes tlie man 
who deceived her. "Murder will out." Jeannie's faith in her husband's 
innocence and lier determination to prove it. Girzie deplores the losa of 
her eimpleton child. The wrong man murdered. Jeamie appear3 to clear 
his rival and enemy of guiit. The crime brought home to its author, and 
the laird exposed. Just deserts giveu, ftud a happy reconciliation. "We're 
a' John Thompson's bairns." 



Three months are supposed to elapse between the first and 3«coQ<i MUt, 
fikud one year between the second and third aots. 









9I1IVOR I>RAIfIA« 



M. THAT SOY SAM. An Ethloinen Ftsrce In one act. by F. L. Cutlcar. 8 
malfc, 1 fenjale character Scrnt, r plaiu rc-r.in and com to on furniture. Od»- 
tunies, oiiniic, to puit Uie cbaractere. Verr funny, and efi'ectujJJy gives the 
f roubles* of a "colored gal" iii trying to have a Iwau, and the praakBof "that boy 

Sam." Time of performono* twenty minutes. 
65. ^.V UAWELCOAJE HETIHK A Comic Interlude, In one act. by G«o. 

A. Mnnson. 8 male, 1 f. male character, fecone, a dining room. Costumes. 

modern. Cximf.unies will find this a very amusing piece, tiro negroes being very 

funny — enough w) to keep an audience in the best of humor. Time of perform- 

guce, twenty minutes. 
68. HANS, THE JJVTCH J. P. A l>ntch Farce In one «ct, by F. L. Cutler, 

8 male, 1 female character. An exceedingly funny piece. Ilane flguree as a 

Justice in the absence of his master, ami his ciploit* are extremely ladricoiUB. 

Costumes mo<»c?c. Scene, plain room. Time uf perfoimance, twenty minutes. 

67. THE FALSE FRIEND. A DrHroa in two acts, bv Geo. S.'Vautrot. 6 
male, 1 female ctiaracler. Simple scenery and costumts. FirBt claw cliaractcra 
for leading man. old man, villain^ a rollicking Irislimaii, etc.. also a good lead- 
ing lady. Thiij drama is one of thrilling interest, and dramatic companies will 
invariably be pleased with H. Time of performance, one hoar and forty-fiva 
mi nates. 

68. THE SHAM PROFESSOR. A Farce in one act, by F. L. Cutler. 4 male 
characters. This intensely funny afterpiece can be produced bv any company. 
The characters are ail first class, and the "colored individual" is ewpecially fun- 
ny. Scene,, a plain room. Costumes^ simple Time oi performanee, about 
twenty minutes. 

69. MOTHER'S FOOL. A Farce In one act, bv W. Henri Wilkins. 6 male, 
1 female character. Like all of Mr. Wilkins' p'lays, this is first class. The 
charactera are all well drawn, it is very amusing, and proves an immense 6Uo- 
cess wherever produced, hcene, a simple room. Costumes modem. Timeol 
performance, thirty minutes. 

70. WHICH WILL HE MARRt. A Farce la one act, by Thomas Egerton 
Wilka. 2 male, 8 female characte;-8. Scene, a street. Costumee modem. Easi- 
ly arranged on any ttage. A bar t>er h ears that one of eight women has fallen 
heir to some money, not knowing which, he makes love to them all. This, to- 
gether with the revenge the iemalei have upon him, will prove laughable enough 
to suit any one. lime of representation, thirty minutes. 

71. THE REWARD OF CRIME, OR THE LOVE OF GOLD. A Drama of 
Vermont, in two acts, by W. Henri Wilkins. 5 male, 8 female characters. A 
drama from the pen of'^ this authoi is sufficient guarantee of its exceUence. 
Characters for old man, Ist and 2d heavy men, juvenile, A splendid Yankee, 
lively enough to suit any one. Old woman, juvenile woman, and comedy. 
Coetumes nnxlern. Scene, nialn rooms and stxeet. Time of performance, one 
hour and thirty minutes. likisily placed upon the stage, ana a great favorite 
with amatuers, 

72. THE DEVCE IS IN ni?L A Farce in one act, by R. J. Raymond. 
male, 1 female charact«r. St^ene, a plain room. Costumes modem. This farce 
is ea.Hlly arranged, and can be produced on any stage, in fact, in a parlor. The 
pranks of the doctor's boy will keep an audience in roars of laughter, every line 
oeing full of fun. lime of performance, thirty mlnutea. Order this, and you 
will brt piciased. 

73. A T LAST. A Temperance Drama in three acts, by G. 8. Vautrot 7 male 
1 female character. This is one of the most effective temperance plays ever pub- 
lished. Irood characters for leading man, 1st and 2d villain, a detective, old 
man, a Yajakeo, and a t^pital negro, also leading lady. The temptations of city 
life are faithfully depicted, the eflfecte of gambling, strong drink, etc. Every 
company that orders it will produce it. Costiunes modern. Scene, Mobile, 
Time of performance, one hour and tiurty minutes. 

74. HOW TO TAME YOUR MOTHER^ IN-LAW. A Farce In one act, by 
Henry J. Byron. 4 male, 2 iemsie characters. Scene, parlor, supposed to be In 
the rear of a grocers shop. Cot^tumeii modern. WhiflSes the proprietor <rf the 
grocery, has a mother-in-law who Is always interfering with his boaJneus. Vari- 
ous expiedientft are resorted to to cure her— a mutoaJ trlend is called in, who, ^ 
the aia of various di^uisea frightens the eld lady nearly to death, flnaiiy WUr- 
fle« gol« on a "ge-lorious drunk," and at last triufli|d^ A 
Ticae ef fMoiorraAoce, tbirty-ftve minotea. 



o 



c( 



i: 




1 



AMES' SrANllARO ATVD ItlirVOU DRA9IA 

78. ADRIFT. A Temperanc« Drama, in thne acta, by Chu. W. Babcoek, 
M. D. Six malo, lour female characters- Good cbaraoters for leading taao, 
Tllltin, comedy, juvenile, a capital ae^r«, and jolly Irishman. Also leading ]»• v, > 
dy, little girl, juvenile lady, and old uegress. A deep plot, characters well -5) 
Arawu and lauguago pure. Easily produced. Scenery simple ond costumea 
BocUra. Tlm« of perfermanoa, 0113 Lioar and a h&lt 

7a. HOW HB BID IT. A comic Drama in one aot, by John Parry, tlire« js 

male, two female charactars. An amusing scene trom real life. A plot la laid j | 

to Care a husband, who having lost a flrst \rife whom he domineered over, triea K ' 

to treat a second one In like manner. A splan<lid comedian's part. Time about f | 

thirty minutes. Costumes modern. k ' 

77. JOBS VISIT. Aa Ethiopean burlesque on the Rough Diamond, two ^ ' 
male, one female characters. Easily produced and very laughable. Can also b« 

-l played wlUta. Time twenty minutea. Costumes extravagant negro. ' ! 

( I 78. AN AWFUL CROtlNAL. A Farce lu one act, by J. Palgrave Simpsen, \ \ 
{\ three male, three female characters. Plot excellent aud its development very (| 
I ^ amusing. Tha oftener produced the better It is liked— la In one scene and easily 
pat upon the stage. Ccwtumes simple. Time thirty-five minutes. 

79. THE SPY OF ATLANTA. A Grand Military Alle;,'ory In six acts, by * ) 
A. D. Ames and C. G. Bartley, fourteen mole, three females. This play I3 found- ( \ 
edon Incidents which occurad duriuff the war of ih« ilabolllon— it introduces u > 
Ohio's brave and gallant McPherson— the manner of hid i^pture and death. It ^^ 1 
abounds with beautiful tableaux, drills, marches, battle scenes, Andersonvllle, \ ^ 
ete., and is pronounced by the press and public, th6 tnost succtssfu! military ,■ 
play ever produced. G. A. R. Posts, Military C3ott-inacies and other oretiulza- 
Uojis, who may wish something whicih will dr.i'v, shouiJ produce it. it may ** 
wii be out of place to add that thia play with the incidenis of the dtath of Mo- 
PliertoQ, was written with iho consent of the (ienarjU's brother, K. B. McPher- 
son, since dead, who fully approved of lu Price 25 cents per copy. 

M. ALARMIN^aLY SrUSPK'IOUS. A ComodlatU in one act, b? J. Pal- ! | 

grave Simpson, four malo, three females. This play ia easily arranged, and the ^ 
plot excellent. Some things are "Aliinnlngly yuspicioua" however, and is will 

pdeaso an audience. Timoxorty-dve minutes. ^ 

81. OLD PHIL'S BIRTJTDAF. A serio^mio Dnimo la two acts, by J. (» 
P. Woolar, five male, two females. Scenery easily arranged. Costumes racdera. $ 
One of the purest and most attractive olays ever publiahed. The charcter ol ( ^ 
"Old PhU" oanoot be excelled, and tb<* balanoe are every one good. Time one 
hour and forty- live .ailnutes. 

82. KILLING TIMS. A Fartse In one act. one male, one female. Scene a (' ) 
drawing room. Costumes modern. A woKian held cantivo at home by the rain i ) 
seeks to "Idil time." How she does it Is told by this larco. Time about thirty ^ ) 
minutes. , ) 

fi3. OUT ON THE WORLD. A Drama la thrKe acts, five males, four ft>- o 
males. Scenery not dltficult. Modern c^sttimes. A thrilling picture cf love, ; ) 
fidelity and devotion. Excellent leading characters and Irish coinM j. both .v^ ^ 
malo and female. Caa be produced on any stage. Time two houra. Au Amor- ( \ 
iea& Drama. < ; 

84. CMHRK WILL WIN A Farce for three male characters, by W. E. }\ 
Sttter. Costumes modern. Scene plain apartment It Is said that notlilng will 
KUT/ a man through the world as well as nlenty of •'cheek." A striking ax- 
ample Is given in this farce. It wUl please all. Time thirty mlnutea. 

85. THE OUTCASTS WIFE. A domestic Drama Ic thr«o acts, by Colin 
H. Hazlewood, twelve males, three females. Coatuines modem. A tbrilling 
play of the blood and thunder order, abounding In exciting .vcenes, and hair- 
breadth escapes, Is a favorite wherever pn-duc^xi. and hai* leadius? man, old 
aian, juvenile and comedy characters. The "wife" is a g:-wnd one for leading 
lady, and there is a good comedy. Tirneone hour and f'jry'flva lalnutes. ^^ 

8ft. SLACK FS WHITE OR THE NIG^BR AND YASKKB. A F&rt* \ 
1b one act, by Geo. S. Vautrot, four aa.-iles, two females. Siuiple scenery. Mo<i- 
era costume*. In this farce ia cojubUied the Ethiopian xnd Yankee, boti 
charaeu^rs being very funny, as wtll as othw axcelkut parta. Tbaa af p«rf<am- 
tkirty-flva luLautea. 



fl 



I 



% 



| ^i^€^^a>»3<!K)/XK^3^<(»a^ia'(>:^g*'2^C>^^ .> 5«»3^j>'^Qi^a^^ 




y ^J(!gltalg>^(!»a(Jtal<!>QJg^Q■(!Ka>(!»Q>(^ ' ia(»Q; 

AMLKS' ISTAAOARO A.^I> .^tftl^OR OKAfTlA. 

87. THB BITER BIT. A Comedy in two acts, by Barham Lirius, 6 maid, 
2 female characters. In-door scenes — costumes easily arranged. This ia a 
■jost lauijhabla coiiisdy, and will please all w ha rend it or see It performed. 
4 fine lesson to married men who are a little wild can be learned from this 
eomedy. Time of performance one hour and a quarter. 

^88. THE MISCHIEVOUS NIGGER. An Ethiopian faice In one act, by 
C. White, 4 male, 2 female chaiacters, Antony Snow, the Mischievous Nigger, < i 
18 a favorite with ethiojtean comedians. Also good charactera for old man, < 
TrencTiman, Irishman, Old Woman and Servant. Properties, aceuery, coa- 
tumes, etc. easily arranged. Time 25 minutes. 

( > 89. THE BEA UTY OP LYONS. A Domestic Drama In 8 acts, by W. T 
MoncrleQ", 1 1 male and 2 female characters. It is impossible to give an idea of 
what this drama is in a small space. It is a beautiful play, witha deep plot, 
fine leading characters for male and female, with good old men, juveniles, etc. 
It sparkles with line comedy, and the language is of a high order. It is not 
difficuli to present. Costumes easily arranged. Time about 2 hours. 

90. NO CURE, NO PAY. An Ethiopian farce in 1 act, by Q. W. H. * 
^ t»rlffln, 3 male, 1 female character. Costumes to suit the characters. Scene, a ' 

C ' doctor's office. Very funny. Time of performance 15 minutes, 

91. MICHAEL ERLE, OR THE fAYRE LASS OF LICHFIFLD. A 

Romantic drama iu 2 acts, by Thomas ISgerton Wiiks, 8 male and 3 female { ) 
^ characters. A thrilling melo-drama, which has been played with the greatest 
^ ) success by both professional and amateur companies in all parts of the U. S. 
and England. Costumes shape dresses, etc, Scenery, street, landscape and 
chamber. Good characters fur all. Timo of p«rformance 1 '% nours. 

92. THE STAGE STRUCK DARKEY. An Ethiopian interlude In 1 act» 
The name implies what the piece is. Very amusing. 2 male, 1 female char- ^ 
acter. Costumes "nigger." Scene, plain room. Time 15 minutes. 

93. THE GENTLEMAN IN BLACK, OR THE DESERTER. A comic 
drama in 2 acTs, by William H. Murray, 9 male, 4 female characters. This 
drama abounds with fine comedy, thrilling situations, storms, etc., etc., and 
does not fail to please an audience. The characters are good. A full descrip- 
tion of costumes are given, which are not difficult te arrange. Time 1 J^ hours. 

94. 16,000 YEARS AGO. A Negro farce In one scene, as originally pro- 
duced by Buckley's Serenaders. Is very comical. Time of playing 10 to 20 
mlQutea. 

95. IN THE WRONG CLOTHES. An uproarously funny farce, ia 1 act, 
by James Burton, 5 male, 3 female characters. This very laughable farce can- 

I not be described in a few lines. The eight characters are all first-class, and 
^ the scrapes several of them get Into will keep an audience convulsed with 
laughter. Costumes simple. Time 40 minutes. 



w 



96. ROOMS TO LET WITHOUT BOARD. An Ethiopian sketch in on« 
scene, 2 male, 1 female. Very funny. Time 15 minutes. 

97. THE FATAL BLOW. A Melo-Drama In two acts, by the ever popu- 
lar author, Edward Fitzball, Esq, seven male and one female character. This 

^ author always writes good plays, and this is no exception. It is a great favor- 
C » Ite with amateurs, as well as professionals, and is filled with startling situa- 
Q) tious of the "blood and thunder" kind. Costumes and scenery not very diffi- 
cult. Time of performance, one hour and a quarter. 

98. TUB BLACK STATUE. An Ethiopian farce in one scene, hy C. 
White, four male and two female characters. Very laughable and easily 
arranged. Time of representation about fifty minutes. 

99. JUMBO JUM. An original farce in one act, as first produced at the 
r ') Boston Theatre, four male and three female characters. Scenes simple and 

e&sily arranged. Costumes modern. Any one ambitious to play a first-class 

negro character, full of genuine fhn and humor need lodk no further. It will 

keep an audisooo in roars of laughter. Time of performance about thirty 

^ nlnuleB. ^ 



:! 



AMES' PLAYS-Continued. 



M. 


F. 


6 


I 


7 


2 


4 


8 


4 


4 


■i 


1 


2 





6 


5 



NO. 

(59 Mother's Fool, farce, 1 act, by W, Henri Wilkins 

1 Mr. & Mrs. Pringle. farce, 1 act, by Do a T. De Treuba Cosio.... 

23 My Heart's in the Highland)*, farce, 1 act 

3'^ My Wife's Relations, comedietta. 1 act, by Walter Gordon 

90 No Curo No Pay, Ethiopian farce, 1 act, by G. W. H Gr.ffin.... 

(51 Not as Deaf as He Seems. Ethiopian farce. 1 act 

37 Not so Bad After All, comedy, 3 acts, by Wybert Retve 

44 Obedience, Comedietta, 1 act, bv Hattie L. Lambla 1 ■> 

81 Old Phil's Birthday, drama, 2 acts, by J. r. Wooler .-) 2 

.33 On the Sly, farce, 1 act, by John Madison Morton :H 2 

109 Other People's Children, Ethiopian farce, 1 • ct, by A. N. Field 3 2 

]2(i Our Diuigiiters, society comedy, 4 acts, by Fred L. Greenwood 8 (5 

85 Outcast's Wife, drama, 3 acts, oy Colin H. Hazelwood ..^^ 12 3 

83 Out on the World, drama, 3 acts C- '> 4 

Tii Out in the Streets, temperance drama. 3 acts, by S. N. Cook (j -l 

57 Paddy Miles' Boy, Irish farce, 1 act, by James Pilgrim r> 2 

29 Painter of Ghent, play, 1 act, by Douglass Jerrold 5 2 

114 Passions, comedy, 4 acts, by F. Marmuduke Dey S 4 

18 Poacher's Doom, domestic drami, 3 acts, by A. D. \mes 8 :i 

51 Rescued, temperance drama, 2 acts, by C. H. Gilbert 5 3 

110 Reverses, domestic drama. 5 acts, by .A. Newton Field 12 (> 

45 Hock Allen the orphan, drama, 1 act, by W. Henri Wilkins 5 3 

96 Rooms to Let without Board, Ethiopian farce, 1 act 2 I 

59 Saved, temperance sketch, 1 act, by Edwin Tardy 2 3 

i\ 48 Schnaps, Dutch farce, 1 act, by M. A. D. Cliffton 1 i 

• 107 ^ chool, Ethiopian farce. 1 act, by A. Newton Field 5 

' 115 S. H. A. M. Pinafore, burlesque, 1 act. by W. Henri Wilkins 5 3 

.^5 Somebody's Nobody, farce, 1 act, by C. A. Maltby 3 2 

94 Sixteen Thousand Years Ago, Ethiopian farce, 1 act 3 

25 Sport with a Sportsman, Ethiopian farce, 1 act 2 

79 Spy of Atlnnta, military allegory, ti acts, by A. D. Ames, 25 cents. .. 14 3 

92 Stage Struck Darkey, Ethiopian farce, 1 act 2 1 

10 Stocks Up, Stocks Down, Ethiopian farce, 1 act 2 

62 Ten Nights in a Bar Room, temperance drama, 5 acts 7 3 

64 That Boy Sam, Etliiopian farce, 1 act, by K. L. Cutler 3 1 

40 That Mysterious Bundle, farce, 1 act. by H. L. Lambla 2 2 

38 The Bewitched Closet, sketch, 1 act, by H. L. Lambla 5 2 

87 The Biter Bit, comedy, 2 acts, by Barham Livius 5 2 

101 The Coming Man, farce, 1 act. by W. Henri Wilkins 3 1 

67 The False Friend, drama, 2 acts, by George S. Vantrot 6 1 

97 'I he Fatal ijlow, melodrama, 2 acts, by Edward Fitzball 7 1 

119 The Forty-Niners, or The Pioneer's Daughter, border drama, 5 acts, 

by T. W. Hanshew... 10 <' 

93 The Gentleman in Black, drama, 2 acts, by W. H. Murray 9 4 

112 The New Magdalen, drama, pro. 3 acts, by A. Newton Field 8 3 

118 The Popcorn Man. Ethiopian farce, 1 act, by A. Newton Field 3 1 

71 The Reward of Crime, drama, 2 acts, by W. Henri v\ ilkins 5 3 

16 The Serf, tragedy, 5 acts, by R. Talbot t^ 3 

68 The Sham Professor, farce, 1 act, by F. L. Cutler.. 4 

6 The Studio, Ethiopian farce, 1 act 3 

102 Turn of the Tide, temperance drama, 3 acts, by W. Henri Wilkins.. 7 4 
54 The Two T. J's, fare ', 1 act. by Mania Beecher 4 2 

7 The Vow of the Ornani. drama, 3 acts, by J. N. Gotthold 8 1 

28 Thirty-three next Birt hda v, farce, 1 act, by M. Morton 4 2 

108 Those Awful Boys, Ethiopian farce, 1 act, by A. Newton Field 5 

63 Three Glasses a Day, temperance drama, 2 acts, W. Henri Wilkins. . 4 2 
105 Throuch Snow and Sunshine, drama, 5 acts 6 4 

4 Twain'^s Dodginir, Ethiopian farce. 1 act, by A. Newton Field 3 1 

5 When Wcmien Weep, comedietta, 1 act, by J. N. Gotihold 3 2 

56 Wooing Under Ditficulties, farce, 1 act, by J. T. Douglass 4 3 

4 1 Won at Last, comedy drama , 3 acts, by Wybert Reeve 7 3 

70 W hie II will he Marry, farce, 1 act, by Thomas E. Wilks 2 8 

58 Wrecked, temperance drama. 2 acts, by A. D. Ames 9 3 

111 Yankee Duelist, farce, 1 act, by A. Newton Field 2 2 



New Music ! Lat( 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




TJrat l^ittk' ISIark 3IiE>*<a« Jisc— C 

M.Dow. Very taking. Mil 1 n i,MeuL suocesi _ _^^ ^^__ __ _ _^»- 

Fayette Wal<^.- -For piano ...• orgni . « ^^^ 165 834 ^^ 

juid very pretty. Price 2o cents. 

Wait for the Tsirii of tlic^ Tide.— As sung in Wilkius' Drama? 
••The Till n <.f the TmIh." Arrini2:<'il iis a quartette by Will R, Reynohis; 
Very suitable tor exliibiliuns, as it is easy, and at the same time very pleas- 
ing. Price 30 cents. 

^ly T^aiiie Vas Ifeini*lo]i Blans. — A ronring Dutch Song, words by 
W. IT. Spaurjler, Jr., muse by F. O. Wilson. This song has made a great 
hit. and is pion'Muice I by boih Press and Public the greatest hit of many 
years. Of moderate ditlicnliy. No Dutch Comedian can afford to be 
without it. Priee X,(l c-^nts. 



^ New Plays Just Issued, f^ 

PaKwioiiM. An original con^edy, in 4 acts, by F. Marmaduke Dey, 8 
male and 4 leniaie characters. This I'omedy is a great success, and will be 
a favorite with both dramatic companies and the jiublic. An American 
})iay, the scene being laid in Brooklin. N. Y. Scenery easily arranged. 
Time of playing about One hour and 45 minutes. Order a copy, it will 
please you. 

Tlie Foi'tj-IViners, or tlie Pioneer'* Dau^liter. A pictur- 
esque Ajm-rican drama, in 5 acts, by T. W. Hanslievv, 10 male and 4 fe- 
males. A thrilling border play. Time 2 hours. 

S. H. A. Ifl. Piiiatore. A burlesque on H. M. S. Pinafore, by W. 
Henri Wiiiiins. 5 male and 3 families. It is u|)roarously funny. Easily 
])roduced, and tht^ same airs are used as in the origiiial Pinafore. It con- 
Jains Dutch, Irish, and Negro characters, and will please all. Time of 
perfoi-mance 30 minutes. 

AiiSd Robin Oray, A Grajid Emotional drama in 5 acts, by Mal- 
colm Stuart Taylor, dramatized from the famous Scotch ballad of the same 
name, by Laiiy Anne Barnard, it has 13 male and 8 female characters. 
Not. a p«)or character in the Play, Time 2 1-2 hours — now published for 
the first lime. Price 26 cents. 

\f^ante*l a Husband. A Dutch Sketch in 1 scene, by E. L. Cutler, 
2 jnale, 1 fein;ile. Very funny. Tinie 20 minutes. 

Cnff's I^neb. An Ethiopian Sketch, by F. L. Cutler, 2 males, 1 fe- 
male. Another of Mr. Culler's be.st. Time 15 minutes. 

Olrt Ponipej'. An Ethiopian Sketch in 1 scene, by F. L. Cutler, I 
Tnale, I female. Good chnr«ct.er for an aged darkey impersonator. Will 
always please. Time 25 miriutes. 

Happy Franli'»i Coinie Nong^and Joke Book. Containsa choice 
collection o[' original Songs, Jokes, Conumdrums, Stump Speaches etc. 
In addition to the above, it also contains one complete Dutch Sketch, one 
Ethiopiiin Farce, and a Negro Sketch, all of which have never before beeii 
published. Price 15 cents per copy. 

All thp^above PInys 15 cents each, unless marked otherwise. 
Ad.ireis. A. D. AMES, Publisher, 

Clvde, Ohi© 



